ANECDOTES  OF 

"Buffalo  Bill" 

That  have  never  appeared  in  print 


DAN  WINGET 


hbl,  stx 


F       594.C697   1927 
Anecdotes  of  Buffalo  Bill  which  ha 


F 

C697 
1927 


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Anecdotes  of 


Buffalo  Bill" 

That  have  never  appeared  in  Print 


By 

DAN  WINGET 

The  Last  of  the  Old  Scouts 


X^tL£fteXESS 


HISTORICAL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
CHICAGO 

1927 


Copyright  1927 
D.  H.  WINGET 


AS  MANY  OF  THE  ANECDOTES 
THAT  APPEAR  IN  THIS  BOOK 
HAVE  TO  DO  WITH  THE  EARLY 
PART  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  THE 

GREAT  SCOUT 

THIS  BOOK  IS  RESPECTFULLY 
DEDICATED  TO  THE 

BOY  SCOUTS 
OF  THE  WORLD 


Courtesy  Chicago,  Burlington  &  Quincy  R.  R. 


Introduction 


TAKE  a  lively  youngster  in 
whose  veins  flows  the  most 
patriotic  blood  of  America;  put  him 
in  the  seething  Kansas  of  the 
Sixties;  let  him  be  a  spectator  and 
participant  in  some  of  the  most 
exciting  engagements  of  the  Civil 
War;  give  him  for  a  chum  Buffalo 
Bill;  let  him  roam  the  western  fron- 
tier with  the  boldest  spirits  of  the 
age — and  he  will  see  many  things 
that  will  be  history. 

D.  H.  Winget  had  such  an  ex- 
perience. His  father  was  the  famous 
General  D.  P.  Winget  of  an  old 
Scotch  family;  his  mother  was  an 
Alexander-Lee  of  the  Alexander- 
Lee-Custis  branch  of  Americans, 
who  were  of  the  same  stock  as 
Martha  Custis  Washington.  They 
moved  to  Kansas  when  Dan  Win- 
get was  a  small  child  and  he  wit- 
nessed some  of  the  most  thrilling 
chapters   in   American   history. 


Now  in  his  home  at  Clinton,  Iowa,  Winget,  a 
hale  man  of  seventy-seven,  is  writing  down  these 
things.    For  autobiography  he  says: 

"So  you  want  to  know  more  of  me?  Ask  ancient 
history  west  of  the  Missouri;  ask  the  Confederate 
prison  at  Atlanta;  ask  every  mile  of  Kansas  Ter- 
ritory; ask  Kansas  City  when  she  was  known  as 
Westport  Landing;  ask  John  Brown;  ask  the  shade 
of  General  Custer;  ask  the  shade  also  of  Buffalo 
Bill,  my  companion  and  "Pard,"  of  whom  this  book 
is  written. 

"But  this  is  enough.  If  they  want  real  Indian 
stories,  let  them  ask  me." 

We  have  asked  Dan  Winget  for  them,  and  he 
has  written  for  us  what  we  believe  to  be  the  most 
interesting  frontier  experiences  that  have  befallen 
any  living  man,  now  that  his  pal,  Buffalo  Bill,  has 
passed  on. 

It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  credit  the  story  of 
the  Pony  Express  to  my  good  friend,  Will  Vischer, 
who  got  this  story  from  the  lips  of  Buffalo  Bill  and 
printed  it  in  his  book,  "The  Pony  Express." 


Preface 


WHEN  I  conceived  the  idea  of 
writing  this  series,  true  to  life 
as  I  recall  the  scenes  and  anecdotes, 
I  felt  that,  so  far  as  facts  were  con- 
cerned, I  could  do  it.  I  have  made 
no  flowery  flourishes  which  would 
take  me  from  the  narrow  path  of 
truth.  I  have  not  dressed  the  stories 
in  rosy  hues,  to  make  a  yellow  im- 
pression, nor  have  I  in  a  single  in- 
stance departed  from  facts,  though 
on  some  exact  dates  I  may  not  be 
accurate.  The  names  I  give  are  real 
names,  the  people  of  this  story  are 
or  were  real  people.  Having  de- 
cided, I  next  asked  permission  of 
my  "Pard,"  which,  with  the  answer 
is  reproduced  by  two  letters,  as  fol- 
lows : 

Clinton,  la.,  Oct.  17,   1911. 
To  Col.  W.  F.  Cody. 

My  dear  Col.: 

I   have   conceived  the  idea   of   writing   a 
book,     "Anecdotes     of     Buffalo     Bill     that 


have  never  appeared  in  print."  I  believe  as  well  as  anyone 
now  living  besides  yourself,  I  am  fitted  to  write  this.  It  shall 
tell  of  our  boyhood  days,  of  days  which  we  passed  in  the 
west,  when  the  west  was  young;  of  the  days  when  history  was 
being  made  at  the  point  of  the  pistol,  and  not  infrequently  at 
the  end  of  a  rope.  Of  the  days  of  "bad  men"  and  bad  Indians. 
Many  of  the  little  stories  you  will  recall  and  many  of  them 
will  have  been  forgotten,  but  you'll  recall  them. 

I  shall  not  go  into  this  without  your  permission,  and  to  be 
honest  with  you  I  shall  tell  you  now  that  our  boyish  pranks 
shall  come  to  the  foreground,  no  matter  if  they  do  hit  us  close. 
We  were  no  worse  than  other  boys  and  to  tell  the  truth,  we 
were  no  better. 

Can  you  stand  it? 

Your  boyhood  pard, 

D.  H.  Winget. 


Buffalo  Bill's 
Wild  West 


and 


Pawnee  Bill's 
Far  East 


Enroute 

Norfolk,  Va.,  Oct.  30,  1911. 
D.  H.  Winget. 

My  Dear  Old  Pard:— 

You  say  you  are  going  to  write  a  book  of  "Anecdotes  of 
Buffalo  Bill  that  have  never  appeared  in  print." 

You  have  my  full  permission.  Stick  to  facts,  write  history, 
for  in  this  particular  line  I  know  of  no  one  more  able  to  do 
it  than  yourself. 

Of  course  it  may  hit  hard  in  places,  but  we  were  no  better 
than  other  boys.     If  you  can  stand  it,  I  can,  so  fly  at  it. 
And  I  wish  you  unbounded  success. 

Your  friend  and  pard, 

W.  F.  Cody, 

"Buffalo  Bill." 


10 


12 


^g^%^v'0 


CHAPTER  I 

First  "Pow-Wow" 


Hf^JSSff1' 


DREAMING 

ONCE  in  a  while  a  man  gets  to  dreaming,  and 
the  chances  are  that  the  past — way  back- 
will  unroll  itself  before  him,  and  again  he  will  live 
over  his  early  days. 

My  pipe  is  lighted;  it  draws  freely.  Faces  of 
friends  appear  in  the  smoke  clouds  and,  as  I  greet 
them,  they  smile  in  recognition.  Following  the 
rolling,  mixing,  twirling  clouds,  I  note  a  face  I  do 
not  recall.  It  seems  the  face  of  a  loved  one  gone 
before,  yet  the  features  are  indistinct.  A  low,  sweet 
voice  I  hear: 

"I  will  be  your  Guiding  Spirit  through  your 
dream." 

It  settled  down  close  to  me  and,  as  it  passed  my 
face,  I  could  almost  recall  the  kiss  of  good-night 
after  I  had  said, 

"I  pray    the   Lord   my    soul    to   keep.'* 

It  was  my  mother. 


It  is  not  that  I  am  bright  above  the  average  that 
I  am  able  to  write  these  pages  of  snatches  from 

13 


14  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

history,  or  a  patch-work  of  memories.  It  is  because 
I  happened  to  be  born  about  the  time  the  history 
of  the  West  was  in  the  making,  and  that  I  was 
there. 

In  my  time  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to 
meet  and  become  acquainted  with  some  of  the  men 
who  have  come  into  the  limelight  in  our  nation's 
history.  I  have  met  Abraham  Lincoln,  General 
Grant,  Generals  Custer,  Pope,  Miles,  Mead,  Blunt, 
Sheridan,  Sherman,  and  others  of  military  renown. 

I  have  met  Jesse  James,  the  outlaw;  Quantrell, 
the  guerrilla;  Red  Cloud,  the  Sioux  chief;  Sitting 
Bull,  Big  Tree,  Johnnie  Ross,  chief  of  the  Dela- 
wares. 

Among  those  who  made  western  history,  I  have 
met  Wild  Bill  (William  Hickock),  Simon  Slade, 
Uncle  Billy  Russell,  who  owned  the  freighting 
trains  that  crossed  the  plains,  drawn  by  oxen  and 
mules,  Pony  Bob,  one  of  the  early  riders  of  the 
Pony  Express,  and  W.  F.  Cody,  the  original  Boy 
Scout,  who  got  his  first  Indian  before  he  was  six- 
teen years  of  age. 

I  knew  also  Susan  B.  Anthony,  the  mother  of 
woman  suffrage,  and  her  brother,  Col.  D.  R.  An- 
thony, known  as  the  fighting  editor  of  Kansas. 

This  book  has  not  to  do  with  Indians  entirely. 
It  is  not  written  to  take  a  place  in  the  line  of  those 
yellow-back,  blood  and  thunder  stories  of  the 
prairies,  written  by  people  who  were  never  west  of 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  15 

the  Ohio  line  or  north  of  Kokomo,  Indiana.  It  is 
intended  to  be  a  hashed  history,  if  so  I  may  term 
it.  It  does  not  take  up  the  story,  and  follow,  day 
by  day,  the  doings  of  Buffalo  Bill.  That  would  be 
too  much  like  the  route  card  or  itinerary  of  his  Wild 
West  show. 

This  is  just  a  bunch  of  anecdotes  of  the  boy  and 
man,  as  they  recur  to  me,  backed  by  no  notes  or 
data  save  memory.  It  is  not  a  history  of  the  King 
of  Scouts  as  a  scout,  though  in  the  line  of  brave 
men,  he  was  the  bravest.  It  is  not  a  tale  of  the 
Pony  Express,  though  he  was  one  of  its  first  riders. 
It  is  not  the  story  of  the  man  as  a  show  man, 
though  he  has  been  seen  in  the  saddle  with  his 
pageant  in  nearly  all  of  the  larger  cities  of  the 
world. 

No,  all  this  has  been  printed  and  reprinted  in 
the  public  press,  in  magazines,  in  books,  and  is  to 
many  an  old  story. 

It  has  been  left  to  me,  his  boyhood  chum  and 
"pard,"  to  gather  up  the  threads  here  and  there, 
which  have  been  missing  by  the  historians  and  story 
writers,  because  they  did  not  know,  and  to  weave 
them  into  the  fabric  of  his  life,  using  names  as  I 
can  remember  them,  and  dates  where  I  am  sure 
of  them,  but  keeping  so  close  to  actual  history  that 
both  the  writer  and  the  one  written  of  can  sit  on 
a  Bible  and  make  affidavit  to  the  whole.  This  is 
what  we  might  call  "patchwork  history." 


16  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

I  have  heard  people  say,  speaking  of  Buffalo  Bill, 
that  he  was  never  on  the  plains,  never  a  scout, 
never  saw  an  Indian,  and  never  killed  one.  An 
editor  in  Cheyenne  where,  to  my  certain  knowledge, 
Cody  killed  two  Indians,  writes  in  his  "Sagebush 
Philosophy"  that  Buffalo  Bill  never  saw  a  hostile 
Indian  in  his  life,  when  there  are  at  least  two  people 
living  in  that  city  (James  Currie  and  Ed  Estes), 
who  were  with  us  when  Cody  killed  two  Indians, 
and  rescued  a  man  named  Hillyard  Cooper  from 
them  after  they  had  killed  his  wife  before  his  eyes 
and  had  securely  bound  him  to  the  wheel  of  his 
"moving"  wagon. 

Second  "Pow-Wow" 

THE   BOY  AND   THE  SETTING 

1WILL  venture  to  say  that  Buffalo  Bill  was  the 
best  known  man  in  the  United  States,  if  not  in 
the  world.  I  say  this  because  I  believe  I  can 
prove  it. 

Some  years  ago,  I  mailed  a  letter  to  him  from 
Clinton,  Iowa,  and  it  reached  him  in  London,  Eng- 
land. There  was  nothing  on  the  envelope  except  a 
picture  of  him.  In  1911  I  sent  many  letters  to  him 
in  this  country,  addressed  the  same  way  and  they 
all  reached  him. 

As  I  say,  many  people  know  him  as  Buffalo  Bill, 
the  showman,  and  Chief  of  Scouts  of  the  United 
States.  Still  a  large  number  know  him  as  a  guide 
and  buffalo  hunter.    However,  I  am  not  afraid  of 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  17 

contradiction  when  I  say  that  there  is  but  a  handful 
who  knew  him  as  "Billy  Cody,"  the  school  boy. 

Well,  I  am  one  of  that  handful.  I  know  him  as 
a  boy — a  school  boy — and  this  is  my  excuse  for 
writing  this,  the  unvarnished  story  of  his  early  life, 
with  little  sketches  that  I  have  never  seen  in  print, 
and  telling  as  truthfully  as  a  mirror,  his  and  our 
many  pranks,  pleasant  and  otherwise,  as  boys  of 
the  wild  west. 

It  was  the  wild  west  then,  back  in  the  "fifties." 
True,  we  were  boys,  not  young  men.  In  this  en- 
lightened age,  when  our  language  is  so  plentifully 
sprinkled  with  slang,  we  would  be  called  kids. 

And  we  were  kids,  imbued  with  all  the  ginger 
and  steam  of  the  son  of  a  goat;  could  not  stand 
still  for  a  minute,  something  doing  all  the  time; 
our  every  day  being  Hallowe'en,  and  our  nights 
spent  laying  out  the  program  for  the  coming  morn. 
Not  bad  kids,  mind  you.  No  better,  no  worse  than 
others.  Just  boys  bubbling  over  with  health,  good 
red  blood,  and  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the  world. 

If  in  these  pages  there  may  be  some  things  that 
do  not  agree  with  your  ideas  of  what  the  boy  of 
today  should  be,  pass  it  over,  for  those  pranks  are 
but  atoms  of  what  seems  to  me  ancient  history. 

They  tell  of  days  when  the  West  was  young;  of 
the  days  before  the  noble  Red  Man  was  the  fat, 


18  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

easy-going  old  grunter  he  is  today ;  of  the  days  when 
the  friendly  tribes  would  come  to  town  and  shoot 
with  their  arrows  a  five-cent  piece  put  up  for  a  tar- 
get; when  your  pet  dog  or  cat  looked  to  the  friendly 
Indian  only  as  a  good,  square  meal,  and  they  were 
made  the  victims  of  the  bow  and  arrow;  of  the  days 
when  the  friendly  buck  or  squaw  would  enter  your 
home  without  knocking  and  ask  for  "Chuckaway" 
which,  translated,  means  food;  and  when  these  same 
bucks  or  squaws  could  be  made  to  take  a  swift  hike 
when  they  saw  your  mother  reach  for  the  tea  kettle 
on  the  stove.  They  bore  no  ill  feeling;  they  did 
not  stop  to  reason  or  explain,  nor  did  they  look 
around;  they  vanished. 

Those  were  the  days  when  a  cup  of  dark  brown 
sugar  would  buy  an  Indian  pony  from  the  tribe. 
As  a  consequence,  all  of  us  had  our  own  horses 
and,  as  a  further  consequence,  most  of  our  games 
were  played  on  horseback.  It  was  no  uncommon 
thing  way  back  then,  to  see  a  whole  herd  of  school 
boys'  ponies  grazing  on  the  playground,  or  stand- 
ing patiently  waiting  the  appearance  of  their  young 
masters  or  mistresses,  for  girls  had  their  ponies, 
too. 

Billy  was  a  splendid  rider  and  always  had  a 
splendid  mount.  His  ponies  were  all  trained  to 
come  at  his  call,  and  there  were  few — very  few — 
other  persons  who  could  approach  them. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  19 

Third  "Pow-Wow" 

THE  ORIGINAL  BOY  SCOUT 

THERE  are  thousands  of  Boy  Scouts  all  over 
the  country.    Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that 
the  best  known  scout  in  the  world  is  Buffalo  Bill? 

It  is  the  spirit  of  the  scout  nature  that  makes  this 
organization  so  fascinating.  Take  the  great  scout 
Cody  for  your  example.  First,  be  sure  you  are 
right,  then  go  ahead.  In  the  first  place,  be  brave 
— cultivate  that  bravery  which  is  born  in  every  boy. 
Dare  to  do  right,  to  be  right;  then  have  the  courage 
of  your  convictions,  and  fight  for  them. 

Let  us  take  the  early  life  of  the  great  scout.  His 
tastes  were  not  low.  His  bravery  &s  a  boy  was 
never  questioned.  He  was  open  and  above  board 
in  all  his  actions.  He  was  not  two-faced.  He  made 
a  confidante  of  his  father,  who  was  an  early  pioneer 
of  Iowa.  The  two  were  "pards."  His  noble  mother 
had  confidence  in  her  boy  because  she  knew  he 
was  true. 

He  was  the  champion  of  the  weak.  In  short,  he 
was  a  manly  boy.  All  these  things  it  takes  to  make 
a  real  Boy  Scout. 

Are  you  eligible,  my  boy,  to  follow  the  great 
scout?  Think  it  over.  Be  on  good  terms  with 
your  father — be  his  "pard."  Honor  your  dear 
mother  —  be  her  pride  and  her  champion.  Dare  to 
do  right;  dare  to  be  true,  and  you  will  be  a  Boy 
Scout  worthy  of  the  name. 


20  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

The  grand  army  of  Boy  Scouts  is  gradually  sur- 
rounding the  civilized  world  and,  while  not  directly 
connected  with  this  army,  Buffalo  Bill  may  safely 
be  said  to  be  the  first  or  original  Boy  Scout.  At 
the  tender  age  of  fifteen  he  went  on  his  first  scout. 

Rumors  were  afloat  of  a  band  of  Indians  on  the 
war  path  and  Billy  Cody  mounted  his  pony  to  find 
out  the  truth  of  the  matter.  He  rode  half  the  night 
and  was  rewarded  in  his  search  by  finding  a  large 
body  of  Cherokees.  As  he  noted  their  movements, 
he  saw  that  they  were  in  a  state  of  unrest,  and  that 
preparations  were  being  made  for  something  un- 
usual. 

After  satisfying  himself  that  all  wras  not  right, 
he  turned  his  faithful  pony  toward  home,  and,  as 
day  was  breaking,  rode  into  Fort  Leavenworth 
and  reported  the  facts. 

About  that  time,  small  trains  or  parties  of  movers 
or  settlers  were  preparing  to  make  the  trip  to  the 
far  West,  and  already  had  started.  On  the  morning 
he  rode  in,  a  government  supply  train  was  getting 
ready  to  move.  Billy's  news  caused  the  commander 
to  send  out  a  troop  of  cavalry  instead.  With  them, 
Billy  rode  as  guide  and  scout.  This  was  his  first 
trip  as  a  scout. 

Just  at  the  point  designated  by  him  about  two 
hundred  Cherokees  were  found,  in  full  war  paint, 
and  stripped  for  battle,  massacre  and  robbery.  At 
first  sight  of  the  troops,  they  mounted  their  horses, 
and,  firing  a  few  parting  shots,  dashed  away,  fol- 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  21 

lowed  by  the  cavalry  with  Billy  well  to  the  front. 
On  this  raid,  eight  able-bodied  bucks  were  sent  to 
the  Happy  Hunting  Ground. 

Billy  was  brought  before  the  commander  and 
thanked  most  heartily  and,  as  a  further  testimonial 
of  the  government's  recognition  of  his  service,  was 
presented  with  a  fine,  rangy  horse,  saddle  and 
bridle,  a  pair  of  "Navy"  revolvers  and  a  cavalry 
carbine. 

I  tell  you,  Billy  was  proud  of  this,  and  when  it 
became  known,  Billy  was  quite  a  hero,  and  I,  being 
his  chum,  was  just  as  proud  as  he. 

The  supply  train  moved  with  an  escort  of  Uncle 
Sam's  cavalry,  and  many  of  the  westward-ho  travel- 
ers dropped  in  behind  and  traveled  with  this  strong 
escort  of  soldiers. 

After  this  all  trains  were  sent  out  with  a  military 
guard,  and  a  scout  or  guide.  Thus  I  claim  that 
Billy  Cody  was  the  original  Boy  Scout. 

Though  years  have  passed  since  scouts  were  use- 
ful on  our  border,  the  thrilling  life,  the  tales  of 
dangers  and  bravery  have  held  a  fascination  for  the 
youth  of  all  countries,  and  no  more  enticing  name 
could  be  found  around  which  to  gather  our  boys 
than  that  of  Scout. 

The  original  Boy  Scout  is  no  longer  in  our  midst. 
He  loved  the  good,  clean  American  boys  such  as 
are  enrolled  in  the  Boy  Scout  movement,  and  noth- 
ing pleased  him  so  well  as  to  sit  alone  with  a  bunch 
of  Our  Boys  and  hold  a  "pow-wow,"  as  he  termed  it. 


22  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

I  have  heard  the  old,  long-haired  scout  talk  with 
boys,  and  if  his  advice,  as  given  to  them,  were  ac- 
cepted by  every  boy,  America  would  boast  a  race 
of  Boy  Scouts  noted  for  their  clean  character,  their 
bravery,  their  chivalry.  They  would  be  boys  and 
young  men  who  would  look  you  fearlessly  in  the 
eye  and  tell  the  truth.  They  would  be  brave,  in 
that  they  would  know  that  they  were  right  and 
would  fight  for  it. 

They  would  honor  and  revere  their  country's  flag 
and,  as  I  have  often  seen  this  big  Boy  Scout  do, 
would  take  off  their  hat  to  their  country's  emblem, 
and  should  the  time  come  when  it  needed  defenders, 
they  would  be  in  the  first  rank  and  on  the  firing 
line,  ready,  if  need  be,  to  lay  down  their  lives  for 
its  honor. 

That  is  the  stuff  good  American  Scouts  are  made 
of.  "They  are  Our  Boys,"  said  Colonel  Cody,  "who 
will  be  our  men,  our  rulers,  our  generals,  our  pro- 
tectors." 

In  talking  to  a  bunch  of  boys  one  day,  the 
Colonel  said: 

"Boys,  keep  your  hands  clean.  Don't  do  any 
dirty  tricks  of  which  you  will  be  ashamed.  Don't 
be  afraid  to  tell  the  truth.  Be  brave  enough  to 
speak  it,  even  if  it  goes  against  you.  True  bravery 
never  hides  behind  a  lie.  That  is  the  coward's 
breastworks.  Keep  your  muscles  hard,  get  out  in 
the  air,  walk,  ride,  take  exercise.    Keep  up  with 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  28 

your  studies;  give  your  brain  the  same  exercise  you 
do  your  legs  and  arms.  A  cultivated  and  well- 
balanced  brain  is  one  of  the  things  every  great 
general  must  have,  whether  it  be  on  the  battle-field 
or  in  the  great  fight  with  the  world  as  captains  of 
industry. 

"Salute  your  fathers  as  your  superior  officers; 
make  them  respect  you.  Show  them  that  you  are 
coming  men.  Take  them  in  your  counsel,  meet  on 
the  level,  and  you  will  find  them  the  nicest  lot  of 
fellows  you  ever  met. 

"A  true  soldier  and  scout  holds  the  name  of 
woman  in  reverence.  Then,  be  a  soldier  true,  and 
a  scout.  Show  your  mother  and  your  sister  that 
you  are  their  protector,  and  that  they  may  rely 
upon  you.  Don't  get  out  of  patience.  Take  steps 
for  them;  help  them  whenever  you  can  relieve  them 
of  burden.  It  is  not  the  mark  of  a  "softy"  or  a 
goody-goody  boy.  It  is  the  insignia  of  bravery, 
of  chivalry,  and  the  proud  mark  of  a  true  Boy 
Scout  of  the  later  day. 

"The  same  spirit  that  led  the  scout  of  the  plains 
to  fight  the  Indians,  and  protect  the  weak,  stands 
in  these  days  of  civilization  between  the  weak — our 
mothers,  our  sisters,  and  their  burdens. 

"I  tell  you  boys,  if  I  were  a  boy  today,  I  would 
join  the  Boy  Scouts,  and  make  it  my  pride  to  keep 
the  name  pure,  and  its  banner  unstained." 

Even  while  still  a  boy,  Billy  Cody  formed  a 
company  of  scouts  to  look  out  for  the  advance  guard 


24  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

of  border  ruffians  and  report  whenever  any  of  them 
crossed  the  river  from  Missouri.  More  than  one 
preconceived  raid  was  broken  up  by  "Billy  Cody's 
Boys." 

Those  were  the  days  when  the  Missourians,  or 
pro-slavery  people  were  looked  upon  as  dangerous, 
and  were  dangerous,  for  the  gang  embraced  the 
roughs,  outlaws,  and  the  scum  of  humanity.  They 
were  men  who  were  lawless  and  held  life  cheaply. 

They  sought  the  lives,  not  only  of  Isaac  Cody, 
but  of  several  other  tried  and  true,  pronounced 
men  in  favor  of  a  free  state  for  Kansas.  If  a  hand- 
ful of  these  resolute  men  could  be  put  out  of  the 
way,  it  would  be  clear  sailing  for  those  in  favor 
of  slavery. 

This  organization  was  formed  and  led  by  Billy 
Cody,  and  he  never  slept.  It  did  seem  that  he  was 
constantly  on  the  job.  Our  good  and  close  chum, 
Harry  Hathway,  was  another  we  could  count  on. 
Ed  House,  Henry  Brown,  Jimmy  Mann,  Pat 
Malone,  Ed  Hastings,  Little  Jimmy  Tool,  Will 
Winget,  Dick  Humphrey  and  Bob  West  were 
others.  Also  some  Kansas  girls  were  alert  and,  not 
infrequently,    gave   pointers. 

Among  those  girls,  true  as  steel,  we  recall:  May 
Cody,  Helen  Cody,  Laura  Hughes,  Flora  Rush, 
Abbie  Perkins,  Clara  Weibling,  Mamie  Sanders, 
and  Carrie  Helling.  They  were  true  blue,  and,  as 
I  look  at  it  now,  they  should  have  sailed  under  the 
name   of   "Girl    Scouts."     They  were   all   girls   of 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  25 

true  Western  mettle;  girls  to  whom  the  dangers  of 
the  border  were  well  known,  and  for  which  they 
had  no  terrors.  God  bless  our  girl  scouts,  wherever 
they  may  be. 

Fourth  "Pow-Wow" 

THE   BOY   NIGHT-HERD 

BILLY  CODY,  at  the  age  of  twelve,  got  a  job 
with  Wagon  Master  Simpson,  as  night-herd, 
and  his  duties  were  to  ride  watch  on  the  grazing 
cattle.  Mr.  Simpson  was  one  of  those  rough,  big- 
hearted  men  of  the  plains,  and  had  taken  quite  a 
notion  to  Billy,  and  it  was  on  his  promise  to  take 
good  care  of  the  boy  that  Mrs.  Cody  gave  her  con- 
sent to  his  going. 

One  night  when  his  train  was  corralled  and  all 
were  peacefully  sleeping  in  camp  about  a  hundred 
miles  east  of  Salt  Lake,  the  notorious  Lot  Smith, 
the  Danite,  with  a  hundred  of  his  white  outlaws 
(Mormons)  came  riding  by.  They  were  taken  for 
returning  travelers  and  no  notice  taken  of  them 
until  they  came  closer.  Cattle  were  stampeded, 
horses  were  stolen,  and  the  entire  train  crew  forced 
to  surrender. 

Simpson  was  wagon  master,  and  he  and  a  few  of 
his  men  had  ridden  quite  a  distance  from  the  camp. 
The  Danites,  quite  a  body  of  white  men,  approached 
the  camp,  and  those  who  were  still  awake,  suppos- 
ing them  to  be  returning  travelers,  of  which  many 
were  encountered,  suspected  no  treachery  and  ex- 
tended them  the  western  hospitality  of  the  camp. 


26  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

This  gave  the  Danites  the  opportunity  they  desired 
and,  drawing  their  guns,  disarmed  the  few,  bound 
them,  and  in  the  same  manner,  secured  the  sleep- 
ing drivers. 

Mr.  Simpson  and  his  men  also  were  deceived  and 
captured.  Mr.  Simpson,  a  man  of  iron  nerve,  pro- 
ceeded to  tell  the  Danite  leader  what  he  thought  of 
him,  and  this  course,  instead  of  meaning  murder, 
rather  awakened  the  admiration  of  Lot  Smith,  who 
gave  them  their  arms,  and  one  wagon  of  supplies 
for  food,  and  allowed  them  to  depart  for  the  East, 
leaving  the  remainder  of  the  train  and  cattle  to 
the  Danites. 

The  defeated  and  disappointed  men,  knowing 
they  were  over-powered  by  numbers,  took  up  their 
journey  eastward,  and  later,  as  they  climbed  a  hill, 
they  could  see  the  flames  and  smoke  of  their  burn- 
ing wagons  and  supplies. 

Billy  was  a  boy — a  child — but  this  was  his  record 
long-distance  walk.  He  footed  it  a  thousand  miles, 
which,  as  he  told  me  in  May,  1912,  effectually  broke 
him  of  walking. 

Now,  you  Boy  Scouts,  when  you  are  weary  of 
a  long  hike,  think  of  the  original  Boy  Scout  and 
his  little  hike  of  one  thousand  miles.  Are  you  game? 


ffl^j2SaBAC*a!ilJ3£fe^ 


CHAPTER  II 


Fifth  "Pow-Wow" 

HOUNDING   THE  ELDER 

IN  Leavenworth,  many  years  ago,  the  Presby- 
terian Church  stood  between  Seneca  and  Osage 
Streets.  It  was  a  little  frame  building  with  two 
front  doors.  Leading  from  each  door  down  to  the 
pulpit  was  an  aisle  with  seats  holding  about  eight 
people,  on  the  north  and  south  sides,  and  long  seats 
holding  about  double  the  number  in  the  center.  It 
was  so  arranged  that  we  could  go  in  one  door,  down 
the  aisle,  and.  passing  the  pulpit,  out  the  other  door. 
So  much  for  the  lay  of  the  land. 

Our  preacher  was  Mr.  A.  W.  Pitzer,  now  of 
Washington,  D.  C,  a  Southern  man  who,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  Civil  War,  resigned  and  cast  his 
fortunes  with  his  home  land. 

He  was  a  young  man  beloved  by  all  and  es- 
pecially by  the  boys,  with  whom  he  was  a  great 
favorite.  Now,  you  have  the  church,  the  pulpit,  the 
pews  and  preacher. 

I  suppose  in  every  church  there  is  some  vinegar- 
faced  old  elder  who  always  finds  fault  with  the 
boys,  and  is  a  constant  menace  to  their  exuberant 

27 


28  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

spirits.  Our  church  had  one.  His  name  was  Currie, 
"Old  Currie"  we  called  him,  and  he  made  us  feel 
that  he  owned  the  church,  that  we  must  clean  our 
feet,  and  tip-toe  down  the  aisle,  or  he  would  "call" 
us  before  the  congregation.  More  than  once  he  led 
us  out  and  made  us  clean  our  feet. 

Now,  we  have  the  church  and  the  elder,  the  lay 
of  the  land  and  so  forth.    Now,  for  the  bad  boys. 

There  were,  in  our  crowd,  about  six  or  seven 
boys,  and  this  bunch  was  reduced  to  three  or  four 
when  any  particularly  "devilish"  scheme  was  on 
foot.  That  was  a  quartet  of  quiet  ones  who 
never  told. 

About  a  half  block  from  the  church  lived  General 
Custer,  who  owned  a  pack  of  sixteen  hounds. 

We  four,  Billy  Cody,  Will  Winget,  Ed  House 
and  the  writer  were  sitting  on  the  sunny  side  of 
the  Terry  stage  barn,  talking,  and  airing  our  griev- 
ances as  boys  will,  and  the  talk  turned  to  "Old 
Currie."  This  conference  led  to  putting  up  a  job 
on  "Old  Currie." 

Billy  outlined  a  plan  whereby  we  could  get  even 
with  the  old  fellow. 

This  was  Saturday  afternoon  and  we  knew  that 
"Old  Currie"  was  going  to  give  a  talk  at  the  church 
the  following  Sunday  morning,  so  it  was  proposed 
among  us  that  we  do  something  then. 

Now,  right  here,  I  want  to  go  on  record  as  not 
saying  that  Billy  Cody  planned  this  prank,  because 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  29 

we  all  joined  hands  and  crossed  our  hearts  to  never 
tell.    However,  here's  what  we  did: 

We  got  a  scent-bag  early  in  the  morning  and, 
from  the  dog  kennel,  we  trailed  it  straight  to  the 
church.    Ed  got  in  a  window  and  opened  the  doors. 

The  bag  was  dragged  through  the  north  door, 
down  the  aisle,  up  the  pulpit  steps,  down  through 
the  south  aisle,  out  of  the  door,  through  the  back 
yard  of  Dr.  Morris'  residence,  and  out  the  front 
gate,  back  to  the  home  kennel. 

All  was  well,  but  we  threw  out  our  line  of  scouts 
to  be  sure  that  Currie  was  there,  and  not  the 
preacher. 

Things  came  our  way.  The  elder,  in  his  pompous 
way,  marched  up  the  aisle,  put  his  Sunday  "plug" 
hat  on  the  table,  and  ascended  the  pulpit  to  address 
the  congregation.  He  gave  out  the  hymn,  just  like 
a  preacher,  prayed  like  a  lost  calf,  and  finally  set- 
tled down  to  preach. 

Word  was  quickly  passed  and  the  hounds  were 
released  and  quickly  took  up  the  scent.  Such  music 
as  those  hounds  did  make!  They  all  had  the  deep, 
hollow,  bantone  voice  peculiar  to  their  breed  and 
struck  up  the  chorus  as  a  solid  pack.  They  fol- 
lowed the  scent  down  Pottawatomie  Street,  turning 
on  Sixth  Street,  down  through  the  church  yard, 
yelping,  howling,  and  baying.  They  rushed  into 
the  church  door,  down  the  aisle,  up  around  the 
pulpit,  knocking  down  the  "plug"  hat  and  the  con- 


30  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

tribution  bags  on  their  long  sticks,  tripping  "Old 
Currie"  as  they  rushed  between  his  legs,  over- 
turning and  breaking  the  glass  water  pitcher,  spill- 
ing the  water;  out  the  south  aisle  and  door,  through 
Dr.  Morris'  yard  and,  as  the  surveyor  would  put  it, 
"back  to  the  place  of  beginning." 

It  was  only  by  hearsay  that  I  knew  what  took 
place  in  the  church,  but  there  sure  was  something 
doing.  Women  screamed  and  stood  up  on  the  seats; 
men  were  terrorized.  Currie  was  scared  stiff  and 
well  doused  with  water,  while  the  crowd,  trying  to 
get  out  of  the  way  of  the  dogs,  tramped  his  plug 
hat  into  a  shapeless  mass. 

My  father  told  me  that  if  one  of  his  boys  was 
connected  with  that  scrape,  he  would  tan  the  hide 
off  of  him;  and  he  would,  for  I  happen  to  know 
from  experience. 

The  papers  were  full  of  it.  I  say  papers,  but 
there  was  but  one  paper  at  that  time.  It  was  the 
Leavenworth  Herald,  run  by  a  man  named  Saterlee, 
who  was  afterwards)  shot  and  killed  by  Colonel 
D.  R.  Anthony. 

Rewards  were  offered  for  the  perpetrators,  but 
they  were  never  discovered. 

We  boys  were  scared  stiff.  We  met  at  our  ren- 
dezvous behind  the  barn  and  crossed  our  hearts 
never  to  reveal  our  secret.  It  was  about  this  time 
that  the  pro-slavery  ruffians  from  Missouri  were 
making  raids  across  the  border,  and  it  was  finally 
laid  at  their  door. 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  81 

We  did  not,  as  kids,  realize  what  we  were  doing, 
or  the  enormity  of  the  offense,  but  when  it  became 
the  talk  of  the  town,  we  walked  the  earth  with  fear 
and  trembling,  even  fearing  lest  we  talk  in  our  sleep 
and  give  ourselves  away. 

That  was  a  great  crowd  of  boys.  I  kept  track  of 
them  long  enough  to  know  that  one  of  them  became 
a  gambler  and  was  shot  on  a  steamboat;  another  a 
preacher  and,  at  last  accounts,  was  a  bishop;  still 
another  drifted  out  on  the  plains  as  a  wagon  master; 
next  is  the  best  known  man  in  the  world,  Billy  Cody, 
who  became  the  world-known  Buffalo  Bill.  The  last 
is  the  writer,  now  located  in  Clinton,  Iowa,  running 
a  newspaper. 

And  now  the  spirit  moves  me  to  write  a  long 
letter  of  confession  to  our  beloved  pastor,  Mister 
Pitzer,  and  tell  him  how  it  happened. 

Sixth  "Pow-Wow" 

QUANTRELL,  THE  OUTLAW 

MANY  of  the  older  people  of  the  border  will 
remember  the  burning  and  sacking  of  Law- 
rence, Kansas;  the  ruthless  massacre  of  innocent 
men,  women  and  children;  the  indiscriminate  burn- 
ing of  homes  and  places  of  business. 

Well,  I  was  there,  and  here  is  how  it  happened. 
The  management  of  the  Terry  Stage  Line,  wishing 
to  transfer  a  lot  of  stage  horses  from  Lawrence  to 
Leavenworth,  hired  four  boys  to  make  the  transfer. 
Each  boy  was  to  ride  one  horse  and  lead  two.  The 
boys  were  Ed  House,  Joe  Mitchell,  George  Mar- 


32  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

shall,  and  myself,  We  rode  over  on  top  of  the  stage 
coach  and  were  ready  to  leave  with  the  horses  early 
the  next  morning.  We  had  but  got  in  our  saddles, 
and  the  line-up  of  led  horses  ready,  when  the  shoot- 
ing commenced.  Buildings  were  fired.  The  gang  of 
guerrillas  galloped  down  Massachusetts  Street,  fir- 
ing at  any  living  person.  A  panic  of  fear  seized  us 
and  we  started  on  the  run.  We  were  stampeded  — 
crazed  with  fear.  One  of  the  horses  of  George 
Marshall's  string  was  shot.  We  dashed  down  to 
the  ford  of  the  Kaw  River,  and  that  is  the  last  I 
remembered  until  we  were  at  Tonganoxie,  miles 
away. 

It  is  generally  believed  that  Quantrell,  the  leader 
of  the  gang,  was  after  the  Rev.  I.  S.  Kalloch,  a 
Baptist  minister,  who  had  acquired  property  in 
Lawrence,  but  in  former  times,  both  had  lived  in 
Leavenworth.  A  bitter  enmity  had  sprung  up  be- 
tween the  two  men  over  a  young  lady  who  became 
the  wife  of  Rev.  Kalloch.  This  is  the  main  reason 
guessed  at  for  the  fiendish  raid  of  Quantrell  and 
his  gang. 

Quantrell  is  remembered  only  as  the  daring  des- 
perado of  Missouri,  yet  Quantrell  was  not  always  a 
desperado. 

At  one  time  he  was  our  school  teacher  in  Leaven- 
worth, Kansas.  He  was  well  liked  withal,  but  was 
in  school  hours  a  severe  disciplinarian,  sparing  not 
the  rod.  At  recess,  however,  he  was  on  the  play- 
ground with  the  boys  and  girls  and  took  interest  in 
the  health-giving  sports  of  that  day. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  83 

It  was  April  First,  All  Fool's  Day,  and  the  usual 
tricks  of  the  day  were  in  evidence.  A  party  of  the 
boys  stretched  a  fine  broom  wire  across  the  aisle  at 
the  approach  to  the  teacher's  desk. 

The  teacher  approached  the  wire  and  it  threw 
him  onto  the  rostrom.  For  a  moment  there  was  a 
hush,  and  then  Mr.  Quantrell  faced  the  school.  I 
shall  never  forget  that  livid  face,  that  glaring  eye, 
that  quivering  lip.  For  a  full  moment  there  was 
silence.     Then : 

"John  Jestice,  lock  the  door  and  bring  me  the 
key. 

"Now,  I'm  going  to  commence  with  the  back  seat 
and  thrash  every  pupil  unless  I  am  told  who  did 
that. 

"Who  tied  that  wire  in  the  aisle?" 
Not  a  sound. 

"Mary  Hughes,  step  this  way." 
This  was  too  much  for  Billy  Cody,  and  up  went 
his  hand  and  he  snapped  his  fingers. 

"What  is  it,  Billy?" 
"She  didn't  do  it." 
"Who  did?" 
"She  didn't." 

"That's  no  answer.  I  shall  proceed  to  thrash 
every  boy  and  girl  in  this  school  until  I  get  the 
right  one.     Come  up  here,  Mary." 

Billy  got  up  from  his  seat  and  walked  up  to  the 
rostrum. 


84  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

"Mr.  Quantrell,  I  did  that." 

"Did  anyone  else  help?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Who  was  it?" 

"I'd  rather  not  tell  —  I'll  take  the  licking  for 
doing  it.  I  didn't  think  it  would  hurt  you.  It  was 
only  done  for  a  joke,  and  not  in  school  hours." 

"Take  off  your  coat." 

I  can  see  Billy  now  after  many  years,  how  slowly 
and  reluctantly  he  removed  his  jacket.  I  could  see 
signs  of  a  pretty  big  row,  as  the  "big  boys" 
straightened  up  in  their  seats. 

"Billy,  look  me  in  the  eye." 

Billy  looked  into  the  eye  of  that  infuriated 
teacher.  It  was  a  fearless  gaze,  and  whether  Quan- 
trell was  overcome  by  fear  or  admiration,  we  shall 
never  know. 

"Billy,  if  you  had  lied  to  me,  I  would  have 
thrashed  you  till  you  couldn't  move.  You  may  go 
to  your  seat." 

The  tense  feeling  gradually  disappeared  and  the 
school  moved  on  as  usual  until  recess.  Our  teacher 
was  with  us  on  the  playground,  and  he  bore  no  hard 
feeling  toward  Billy  or  any  other  of  the  boys. 

Yet  this  man,  Quantrell,  our  good-natured,  be- 
loved school  teacher,  became  one  of  the  most  fiend- 
ish, bloodthirsty  villains  and  murderers  that  ever 
lived.     It  doesn't  seem  possible,  does  it,  Billy? 


CHAPTER  III 


D 


Seventh  "Pow-Wow" 

LONG   BOW 

ID  you  ever  hear  of  that  trait,  or  whatever 
you  call  it,  which  is  peculiar  to  the  Indians 
as  to  no  other  race,  that  of  "appearing?" 

Let  me  explain.  You  are  out  in  the  timber  all 
alone,  you  think,  and  you  turn  your  head  and  an 
Indian  is  beside  you  standing  quietly  looking  at  you. 

I  cannot  explain  it,  and  though  I  have  heard  the 
same  question  asked,  I  have  never  heard  it  ex- 
plained. I  have  asked  it  often  of  my  Indian  friends 
and  I  have  many,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  know 
what  I  meant,  or  why  it  was  so  extraordinary.  So 
I  don't  believe  they  know  themselves.  I  guess  it's 
born  in  them  —  a  part  of  their  make-up.  He 
doesn't  notice  it.     He  doesn't  explain  it. 

But  that  "appearing"  was  only  a  passing  thought 
brought  about  by  a  wave  of  memory  regarding  our 
friend  Long  Bow. 

Long  Bow  was  an  Indian  boy  about  our  own 
age,  and  often  joined  with  us.  By  "us"  I  do  not 
mean  our  school  boy  crowd,  but  just  Billy  and  I. 

35 


86  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

It  seemed  that  we  were  happier  when  astride  our 
ponies.  We  took  long  rides,  and  builded  air  castles, 
whose  foundations  rested  on  the  boundless  prairies 
of  the  far  west  we  had  heard  so  much  about.  We 
wanted  to  grow  up  so  that  we  could  join  the  ever 
westward  moving  throngs  to  the  land  of  gold. 

On  these  rides,  many  times  Long  Bow  was  our 
companion.  He  taught  us  woodcraft.  He  taught 
us  to  follow  a  trail  or  how  to  blind  our  own  trail. 
He  taught  us  his  language  and  also  the  almost  uni- 
versal sign  language  of  the  red  man. 

Long  Bow  was  what  we  would  call  in  this  gen- 
eration a  "stand  patter."  He  was  true  as  steel,  and 
a  friend  we  could  trust  more  implicitly  than  many 
of  those  in  whose  veins  runs  the  blood  of  the  white 
man. 

They  say  an  Indian  never  forgets  an  injury. 
True  indeed,  but  let  me  add,  he  never  forgets  a 
kindness  or  proves  ungrateful  to  a  friend. 

This  was  taught  me  by  Long  Bow  who  proved 
the  line  I  have  added. 

One  day  in  a  beautiful  Kansas  autumn,  Billy  and 
I  were  alone  in  the  big  timber  just  west  of  Leaven- 
worth. It  was  wild  and  deep,  that  timber.  It  had 
not  given  up  to  the  march  of  civilization,  nor  cast 
aside  its  truly  untamed  mantle.  Squirrels  chased 
each  other  over  the  trees,  the  gray  timber  wolf  had 
its  home  in  that  forest,  and  the  wild  cat  and  cata- 
mount were  at  home  in  the  giant  trees  or  skulking 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  87 

along    in    the    underbrush.      It    was    wild    western 
nature. 

Our  ponies  were  grazing  near  us,  and  we  were 
lying  on  our  backs  building  air  castles,  talking  of 
what  we  would  do  when  we  were  a  little  older, 
when  — 

Long  Bow  "appeared." 

We  both  saw  him  at  once,  as  he  stood  there  like 
a  statue. 

"How,"  said  he. 

"How,"  said  we. 

Then  he  came  and  sat  with  us.  He  had  a  story 
to  tell  of  some  of  the  boys  in  town.  They  had 
misused  him,  and  made  him  feel  that  he  was  but  an 
Indian.  They,  in  a  crowd,  had  fallen  upon  him  and 
given  him  a  licking.  In  short  they  had  horse- 
whipped him. 

Long  Bow,  half -civilized  Indian  boy  though  he 
was,  felt  the  indignity  and  came  to  us,  his  friends, 
to  tell  us.  How  he  knew  where  to  find  us  I  do  not 
know.    He  simply  "appeared,"  and  that  was  all. 

In  his  short,  crisp  language,  helped  out  and  em- 
phasized by  signs,  he  told  us  of  his  battle  with  the 
town  boys,  and  how,  like  cowards,  they  overpow- 
ered him  and  thrashed  him  with  their  quirts.  He 
told  us  who  they  were,  and  asked  us  to  help  him. 

"I  shall  kill  Sardell,"  he  said,  "and  that  big  Tom 
Watson." 


38  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Billy  told  him  we  would  help  him,  and  we  all 
shook  hands,  just  like  grown-ups,  both  white  and 
Indian. 

Tom  Watson  was  one  of  a  gang  that  the  school 
boys  did  not  like.  They  did  not  go  to  school,  and 
simply  loafed  around  the  levee,  picking  quarrels 
with  the  school  boys  and  lamming  the  tar  out  of 
them  if  they  caught  one  or  two  alone. 

It  was  some  weeks  after  this  when  Billy  and  this 
Tom  Watson  had  a  mixup.  I  don't  remember  who 
started  it,  but  Billy  gave  him  all  he  could  stand. 
There  were  enough  of  Billy's  crowd  to  see  fair  play 
and  to  keep  off  Tom's  gang  if  they  should  interfere. 
It  was  a  struggle.  They  were  well  matched,  though. 
While  Watson  had  the  advantage  of  weight,  Billy 
could  get  all  around  him  and  make  it  hot  for  him. 
Not  fists  alone  were  used  but  the  ever  present  quirt 
was  in  the  hands  of  each. 

Long  Bow  was  there.  He  stood  ready  to  spring 
in,  but  we  held  him  back,  well  knowing  that  fail* 
play  was  all  that  was  necessary.  During  a  pause  in 
the  hostilities,  Billy  told  him  what  a  coward  he  was 
with  his  gang  to  jump  Long  Bow,  and  after  a  short 
wordy  combat,  as  boys  will  indulge  in,  they  went  at 
it  again,  the  quirts  cracked,  fists  found  noses,  and 
the  battle  was  on  again. 

Billy  licked  him,  good  and  plenty,  and  then,  after 
he  let  him  up,  after  having  knocked  him  down,  he 
told  him  to  apologize  to  Long  Bow. 

This  he  refused  to  do,  and  Billy  went  after  him 
with  the  lash  end  of  his  quirt  and  gave  him  a  real 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  39 

horsewhipping,  and  finally  made  him  take  off  his 
hat  to  the  Indian  boy. 

That  day's  work  meant  bad  blood  between  the 
school  gang  and  the  "rowdies,"  as  we  called  them, 
and  we  took  pains  when  we  went  down  to  the  levee, 
to  always  go  in  crowds  of  three  or  four  or  a  dozen. 

Long  Bow  was  our  friend  after  that.  He  simply 
worshipped  Billy  and  more  than  ever  we  had  him 
for  our  companion. 

Several  years  after  that,  when  Billy  had  taken  to 
the  plains,  he  was  scouting  ahead  of  a  train  of  prairie 
schooners,  looking  for  traces  of  hostile  Indians. 
Then  the  plains  were  full  of  them. 

It  wras  growing  dusk,  and  Billy,  riding  alone  far 
ahead  of  the  train,  came  down  to  the  bed  of  a  creek 
to  water  his  horse  and  himself.  It  was  a  lonely  spot, 
he  told  me,  thick  willow  under-growth  on  one  side 
and  a  dense  grove  of  sumac  on  the  other.  His 
horse  had  got  its  fill  of  water  and  Billy,  who  had 
laid  down  on  his  belly  to  get  his  drink,  arose  to  find 
an  Indian  in  war  paint  at  his  side. 

"I  tell  you,  pard,"  said  Billy,  "I  felt  cold  all 
over.  I  felt  it  was  all  up  with  me  for  the  Indian 
had  the  drop  on  me  and  he  had  a  splendid  gun, 
besides  his  long  knife  in  his  belt." 

"How,  Billy,"  said  the  Indian. 

"How,  Long  Bow,"  said  Billy,  who  recognized 
him  at  once,  though  the  Indian  boy  had  grown  to  a 
stalwart  buck,  fine  of  form,  lithe  and  sinewy  as  a 


40  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

wrestler  —  a  typical  savage  in  all  the  glory  of  his 
hideous  war  paint. 

He  took  the  bridle  of  Billy's  horse  and  led  it 
into  the  stream  and  up  the  creek  to  a  stony  shore, 
where  he  stopped. 

"Billy,  go  back  to  wagons,"  said  Long  Bow. 
"Heap  Indians  over  rise  all  on  war  path,"  and  he 
started  out  with  Billy,  guiding  him,  covering  his 
trail  and  keeping  with  him  through  the  tortuous 
windings  of  the  western  stream  until  he  reached  a 
point  nearest  the  train. 

By  this  time  it  was  night,  and  as  the  stars  were 
out  —  a  perfect,  starry  night  without  a  moon  —  the 
Indian  pointed  to  the  North  star.  Then,  facing  it, 
he  directed  Billy  to  his  train,  some  eight  or  ten  miles 
to  the  northeast.  He  told  him  to  hold  his  train  in 
camp  for  two  sleeps  and  then  to  take  his  regular 
trail,  and  his  tribe  would  be  far  to  the  south. 

The  redskin  friend  in  his  war  paint  stood  pat. 

Billy  walked  for  a  distance  leading  his  horse,  and 
as  he  frequently  looked  behind  he  saw  his  friend 
standing  watching  him,  until  the  darkness  swallowed 
him  up. 

It  afterwards  transpired  that  if  Billy  and  his  train 
had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  that  band  of  Indians, 
there  would  not  one  have  lived  to  tell  the  tale. 

Billy  rode  into  camp  late  at  night  and  gave  orders 
that  not  a  move  should  be  made  for  two  days  though 
he  did  not  tell  why.    But  it  saved  the  train. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  41 

Eighth  "Pow-Wow" 

A  BOY  WAGON  MASTER 

A  BOUNDLESS  prairie,  a  long  train  of  white 
covered  wagons,  a  hundred  in  number  and  to 
each  hitched  eight  yoke  of  oxen  —  sixteen  cattle,  and 
walking  beside  each  wagon,  armed  with  a  long-lash 
bull  whip  was  a  driver,  or  bull  whacker,  as  they  were 
called.  This  was  the  style  of  crossing  the  plains  in 
those  good  old  primitive  days.  Quite  different  from 
the  mile-a-minute  trains  of  elegant  coaches  which  now 
flash  over  the  same  route. 

Each  train  was  in  charge  of  a  wagon  master 
whose  word  was  law,  whose  law  was  supreme.  These 
trains  were  laden  with  provisions  and  ammunition 
for  the  soldiers  far  out  on  the  western  frontier 
stationed  at  crude  camps  called  posts  or  forts,  and 
it  was  up  to  the  wagon  master  to  deliver  the  goods. 
On  him  more  than  any  other  one  man  depended  the 
sustenance  of  these  western  soldiers. 

The  bull  whackers  as  a  rule  were  a  rough  and 
ready,  lawless  set,  and  it  required  a  man  of  iron 
nerve  and  tact  to  handle  them. 

The  man  in  charge  of  this  train  was  a  mere  boy  — 
not  yet  20,  and  yet  he  handled  that  crowd  of  men 
perfectly.  They  recognized  in  that  boy  a  born 
leader,  and  though  he  was  but  the  age  of  many  of 
our  boy  scouts  of  today,  he  bore  an  air  of  command 
far  beyond  his  years. 

One  move  of  mutiny,  according  to  the  laws  of  the 
plains,  meant  death.     No  time  for  courts,  no  time 


42  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

for  juries,  no  imprisonment,  for  there  were  not 
prisons.  With  the  first  mutinous  move  a  crack  of 
a  rifle,  and  the  leader  was  tried,  convicted  and  sen- 
tenced. A  single  moment  settled  the  case  beyond 
recall,  and  all  was  over.  As  I  said  before,  it  re- 
quired a  man  of  iron  nerve  in  the  wagon  master. 

This  boy  had  the  nerve. 

His  word  was  law. 

His  commands  were  obeyed. 

His  name  was  Cody  —  Billy  Cody. 

He  was  a  dead  shot. 

It  was  these  attributes  and  accomplishments  v/hich 
made  him  the  most  trusted  and  successful  wagon 
master  of  the  plains,  and  another  thing  which  won 
for  him  the  respect  of  that  great  firm  of  freighters, 
was  that  he  was  true.  He  could  be  trusted.  Many 
thousands  of  dollars  worth  of  goods  were  placed  in 
his  charge,  and  they  were  always  delivered  intact  to 
their  destination. 

Ninth  "Pow-Wow" 

HANDS  UP! 

FOR  a  long  time  the  little  city  of  Leavenworth, 
Kansas,  had  been  infested  by  marauding  gangs  of 
outlaws  from  Missouri.  They  were  known  as  Bor- 
der Ruffians.  They  were  of  the  lower  class  and 
were  men  whose  mission  was  not  pro-slavery,  but 
robbery.  These  were  men  who  would  kill  a  man 
for  money,  and  it  was  generally  believed  that  they 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  48 

were  hired  to  put  out  of  the  way  some  of  the  leading 
Free  State  citizens. 

One  night  just  after  Billy  had  got  home  from  a 
scouting  expedition,  a  tap  was  heard  at  his  bedroom 
window,  and  Billy  arose  to  find  his  Indian  friend, 
Long  Bow,  awaiting  him.  He  hastily  dressed  and 
armed  himself,  for  no  person  went  out  without  arms 
in  those  days.  The  young  Indian  told  him  that  a 
party  had  crossed  the  river  in  skiffs  and  were  at 
the  foot  of  Pottawatomie  street,  on  the  river's  edge. 
It  took  but  a  short  time  for  Billy  to  size  up  the 
crowd  of  three  —  all  desperate  fellows.  The  white 
boy  and  the  Indian  watched  their  every  move,  and 
Billy  crept  so  close  on  the  overhanging  bank  that 
he  could  hear  their  conversation.  It  seems  that  Jim 
Lane,  one  of  the  Free  State  men,  most  hated,  was 
in  town,  and  it  was  the  mission  of  these  men  to  call 
him  out  and  capture  or  kill  him.  It  was  late  when 
one  of  their  number  started  out  on  the  mission,  the 
others  to  follow  shortly  after,  when  Lane  should  be 
away  from  his  house,  the  pretence  being  that  Col. 
Weibling  had  sent  for  him.  Billy  dispatched  the 
Indian  boy  to  wake  up  the  boys  of  our  set,  while 
he  trailed  the  outlaw.  The  ruse  was  fairly  success- 
ful, and  Mr.  Lane  hastened  to  comply  with  the  re- 
quest, to  come  at  once  to  Col.  Weibling. 

But  they  had  not  counted  on  "Billy,"  the  boy 
scout.  Just  as  Mr.  Lane  closed  the  window  after 
receiving  the  message,  and  telling  the  messenger  to 
wait  and  he  would  accompany  him 

"Hands  up!" 


44 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


And  the  outlaw  turned  and  looked  into  the  muz- 
zles of  two  navy  revolvers.  Billy  was  behind  them. 
His  hands  went  up,  and  Mr.  Lane,  hearing  the 
altercation,  came  out  at  once. 

"Take  his  pistols,  Mr.  Lane,"  said  Billy.  "He  is 
here  to  kill  you." 

Mr.  Lane  took  the  pistols  from  the  belt  of  the 
outlaw,  and  Billy  marched  him  down  to  the  jail  on 
Delaware  street. 

The  rest  of  the  gang  got  uneasy  and  took  to  their 
boat,  leaving  their  companion  to  the  "court  of  the 
Vigilantes." 


^r^j=r=z 


CHAPTER  IV 


Tenth  "Pow-Wow" 

I  FULLY  believe  that  the  first  blood  in  the  cause 
of  abolition  of  slavery  which  led  up  to  the  great 
Civil  War,  even  before  the  martyr,  John  Brown, 
was  executed,  was  shed  by  Isaac  Cody,  father  of 
Buffalo  Bill. 

It  was  during  those  hot  times  when  the  fate  of 
Kansas  territory  was  trembling  in  the  balance, 
whether  she  as  a  new  state  should  be  a  slave  state 
or  a  free  state. 

Mr.  Cody  was  a  good  speaker  and  was  urged  at 
a  mass  meeting  to  give  his  views  on  the  subject. 
He  was  not  a  man  to  seek  notoriety,  nor  yet  to  push 
himself  forward,  but  at  the  earnest  solicitation  of 
friends,  and  responding  to  loud  cries  of  "Cody, 
Cody,"  he  took  the  platform  and  in  a  ringing  speech 
gave  his  views  on  the  subject.  He  was  not  a  man 
to  mince  matters,  nor  was  he  ever  accused  of  being 
a  weakling,  or  carrying  water  on  both  shoulders. 
People  knew  where  to  find  him,  and  he  had  the 
courage  of  his  convictions.  He  was  fearless  in  all 
things  and  this  attribute  of  bravery  was  born  in  his 

45 


46  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

son,  who,  through  that  inherited  courage,  became 
the  bravest  and  most  noted  scout  and  pathfinder  the 
world  has  ever  known. 

The  speech  of  Isaac  Cody  did  not  sit  well  with 
the  pro-slavery  people,  so  he  was  threatened  and 
hooted  at  by  the  border  ruffians,  a  large  majority 
of  which  made  up  the  mass  meeting.  To  threaten 
Isaac  Cody  was  only  to  rouse  the  ire  of  a  lion,  and 
in  unmistakable  terms  he  gave  his  views  of  slavery 
and  his  unbiased  opinion  of  those  who  would  pollute 
the  virgin  soil  of  Kansas  with  its  curse. 

While  engaged  in  his  speech  a  big  rowdy  and  a 
bad  man  known  as  Weston  Red,  stepped  up  behind 
him  and  with  a  large  dirk  knife  stabbed  him  twice. 
As  Mr.  Cody  fell  into  the  arms  of  his  friends,  the 
big  ruffian  was  taken  care  of  by  the  mob  from 
Missouri  and  got  across  the  river. 

Billy  and  I,  two  boys,  thought  of  course  he  was 
killed,  but  he  did  not  die  at  that  time,  but  some  time 
later  he  died  from  effects  of  those  ugly  wounds. 
This  was  the  first  blood  for  freedom. 

I  put  this  in  my  story  to  show  the  stuff  of  which 
Buffalo  Bill  was  made. 

Eleventh  "Pow-Wow" 

GRAVE   BUSINESS 

TRUTH  to  tell,  the  incident  I  am  about  to  re- 
late  scared  me  so   that   I   do  not   remember 
whether  Billy  Cody  was  with  us  that  night  or  not, 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  47 

but  he  was  usually  in  on  any  excitement,  and  our 
crowd  was  never  complete  or  at  its  best  without 
him.    Well,  I'll  not  "peach"  on  him,  anyhow. 

A  pauper  had  died  and  was  buried.  His  case 
had  been  a  puzzle  to  the  doctors. 

And  one  doctor  who  wished  to  know  more  of  the 
case,  wanted  the  body.  He  came  to  one  of  our 
crowd,  "Hen"  Brown,  and  offered  him  twenty  dol- 
lars if  he  would  get  the  body. 

At  the  gathering  of  the  "clan"  that  moonlight 
evening,  "Hen"  told  us  all  about  it,  and  where  we 
could  find  the  grave. 

Here  was  a  lark. 

The  boys  were  all  up  and  ready  for  a  creepy 
adventure,  so,  armed  with  spades,  a  pick  and  other 
garden  tools,  we  started  for  Pilot  Knob,  the  bury- 
ing ground. 

This  was  not  the  cemetery  of  today  by  any  means. 
It  was  the  table  land  at  the  top  of  a  knob  or  huge 
hill,  really  a  cross  between  a  hill  and  a  mountain. 
On  one  side,  to  the  north,  the  ascent  was  gradual 
and  winding,  and  it  was  on  this  side  that  the  fu- 
nerals approached  the  summit.  On  the  east,  the 
descent,  while  not  absolutely  perpendicular,  was  a 
very  steep  incline.  The  sides  and  top  of  the  knob 
were  covered  with  scrub  oak  bushes,  with  here  and 
there  a  tree,  the  kind  with  the  glossy,  whispering 
leaves. 


48  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Ed  House  and  the  old  doctor  (Dr.  Abeele),  with 
a  one  horse  spring  wagon,  drove  around  the  road, 
and  the  rest  of  us  cut  across  and  up  the  steep  side 
of  the  knob.  We  soon  gained  the  top  and  found 
the  newly  made  grave.     We  started  to  dig. 

But  where  was  Cody? 

The  moon  came  out  from  behind  an  occasional 
cloud,  only  to  be  veiled  by  another.  The  wind 
whistled  a  wild,  weird  tune  through  the  tree-tops 
and  bushes,  causing  them  to  assist  our  imagination 
in  forming  lisping  ghosts  and  waving  phantoms  as 
their  leaves  showed  bright  in  the  moonlight  like 
eyes  from  a  skulking  ghost  or  spirit. 

Pretty  soon  we  began  to  get  nervous.  We  were 
only  boys,  just  about  the  age  when  ghost  stories 
give  you  a  creepy  feeling,  and  the  cold  little  devils 
chase  themselves  up  and  down  your  spine. 

"What's  that?"  said  one. 

"What  is  it?"  said  another. 

"I  saw  something  white  over  behind  that  bush," 
said  George  Pierce. 

Suddenly  we  heard  a  low  moaning  from  the 
bushes,  just  beyond  the  grave.  It  was  low  and 
plaintive  at  first,  but  soon  it  took  on  an  unmistak- 
able moan. 

All  work  stopped.  The  two  boys  scurried  out  of 
the  grave  and  stood  with  us.  The  moan  again  and, 
as  we  looked  in  its  direction,  a  ghostly  figure,  all 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  49 

in  white,  arose  slowly  up,  up,  till  it  stood,  as  we 
thought,  ten  feet  high.  It  was  a  ghost.  No,  you 
needn't  tell  me  there  are  no  ghosts.  I  saw  one;  I 
heard  it  groan! 

A  panic  seized  us  and,  with  one  accord,  we 
started  down  the  steep  side  of  Pilot  Knob,  leaving 
all  our  tools  behind  and,  truth  to  tell,  they  may  be 
there  yet,  for  though  I  have  often  been  up  to  the 
old  burying  ground,  I  have  never  had  the  courage 
to  go  near  the  old  pauper's  grave. 

As  I  look  back  even  now,  when  fifty  years  have 
passed  without  a  ghost,  I  feel  a  shudder  and  a  cold, 
clammy  sensation  as  I  recall  that  ten  foot  ghost  in 
the  grave  yard  on  Pilot  Knob. 

Long,  long  afterward,  when  we  were  alone,  Billy 
told  me  all  about  it.  He  had  gone  home,  got  a 
sheet  and  a  white  skirt  and  tied  them  up  in  a  bundle 
and,  while  we  were  struggling  up  the  hill,  he  drew 
apart  from  the  crowd,  and  finally,  dressed  up  in 
his  ghostly  uniform,  "appeared,"  and  frightened  us 
off.  He  told  me  of  the  time  he  had  to  keep  from 
laughing  out  loud  and  spoiling  the  whole  thing.  He 
had  many  a  quiet  laugh  over  it,  all  to  himself,  but 
never  for  a  long  time  did  he  break  the  real  truth 
to  the  boys. 

The  Leavenworth  Herald  had  a  big  article  about 
an  attempted  grave  robbery,  the  finding  of  tools, 
etc.,  but  we  never  peeped.  We  were  all  in  it  but 
we  all  kept  quiet. 


50  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Twelfth  "Pow-Wow" 

IEON    TAIL 

THE  reader  will  naturally  inquire,  "Who  is  Iron 
Tail?"  Many  have  met  the  kindly  natured  old 
chief  with  the  Wild  West  Show  of  later  years. 
Iron  Tail  is  not  simply  an  "Injun,"  picked  up  to 
form  a  setting  in  the  historical  play. 

Iron  Tail  is  a  part  of  history,  of  the  history  of 
the  wild  and  woolly  west.  He  is  one  of  the  chiefs 
whose  name  brought  a  thrill  of  fear  to  the  people 
of  the  border.  He  was  the  leader  among  the  red 
men  and  one  in  whose  breast  rankled  the  serpent  of 
vengeance  for  the  loss  of  their  lands.  It  was  he 
who  led  many  a  fatal  raid  and  with  the  stolid  glee 
of  many  an  Indian,  quietly  lifted  the  scalps  of  his 
victims.  Had  Iron  Tail  been  born  a  white  man, 
his  name  would  be  known  from  coast  to  coast. 

He  was  a  born  organizer.  Among  his  people  he 
was  a  recognized  leader  and,  to  this  day,  his  name 
is  spoken  with  reverence  at  all  campflres  of  whatso- 
ever tribe  or  nation.  Among  his  people  he  was  a 
conqueror  and  a  general. 

In  the  early  days,  long  before  the  last  great  up- 
rising, Col.  Cody,  then  known  as  "Bill,"  did  the 
young  buck  a  favor.  This  was  before  the  blanket 
and  war  bonnet  of  the  far-famed  chief,  his  father, 
had  fallen  to  his  keeping. 

It  was  during  a  temporary  peace,  enforced  un- 
doubtedly by  the  presence  of  government  soldiers, 
plentifully  scattered  on  the  plains  and,  at  the  time 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  51 

when  young  "Pahaska"  (the  Indian  name  for  Buf- 
falo Bill)  was  feared  by  the  red  men  as  one  who 
bore  a  charmed  life,  and  was  in  touch  with  the 
Great  Spirit. 

Young  Iron  Tail  wooed  and  won  the  daughter 
of  the  chief  of  another  tribe,  but  the  courtship  met 
with  no  favor  from  her  father.  The  young  man, 
who  always  had  an  air  of  good  camaraderie,  and  was 
on  good  terms  with  young  Billy,  called  one  night 
at  his  home  near  Leavenworth  and,  without  knock- 
ing, "appeared"  in  the  room  with  his  gaze  fixed  on 
the  young  scout.  There  was  no  beckoning,  no  nod 
of  the  head,  but  simply  "How,"  and  he  strode  out 
of  the  door,  Cody  following. 

The  family,  though  somewhat  used  to  these  In- 
dian moves,  somehow  feared  treachery.  The  Indian 
seemed  to  sense  it  and,  turning  about,  laid  on  the 
floor  his  gun  and  knife  and,  holding  up  his  hands, 
with  a  smile,  turned  and  joined  Cody  outside  the 
home. 

Here  he  told  his  trouble  and  asked  the  assistance 
of  young  Pahaska. 

The  following  day  Cody  visited  the  tepee  of  the 
old  chief  and,  after  a  long  talk,  making  many  prom- 
ises of  help  against  the  Cherokees,  a  tribe  more  pow- 
erful than  his  own,  succeeded  in  "showing  the  old 
man."  However,  it  was  not  until  after  many 
"smokes"  that  the  old  chief  finally  consented.  I 
may  add  here,  in  parenthesis,  that  it  was  a  good 
move  and  one  he  never  regretted,  for,  with  the  as- 


52  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

sistance  and  "palaver"  of  Cody,  the  two  tribes  were 
united,  together  forming  one  of  the  most  formidable 
and  close  Indian  alliances  on  the  plains. 

(In  the  possession  of  Mrs.  D.  H.  Winget,  wife 
of  the  writer,  is  a  beautiful  beaded  Indian  belt,  made 
by  Iron  Tail's  bride,  "Red  Leaf,"  for  Buffalo  Bill 
and,  by  him,  presented  to  the  present  possessor.) 

This  was  the  kindness  Cody  did  for  Iron  Tail 
and  was  the  beginning  of  a  life-long  friendship  be- 
tween these  ill-assorted  men,  white  and  red.  They 
were  as  firmly  bound  in  friendship  as  brothers.  Nay, 
more,  for  Iron  Tail  was  Buffalo  Bill's  shadow,  both 
with  the  show  and  on  the  big  hunt  which  the  two 
invariably  took  each  year  when  the  show  was  in 
winter  quarters. 

Thirteenth  "Pow-Wow" 

IRON  TAIL'S  TRIBUTE 

THE  writer  of  this  was  with  Cody  and  with  the 
Indians  so  much  that  he,  like  many  other  "bor- 
der boys,"  learned  to  speak  their  language.  Know- 
ing Iron  Tail  for  years  and  being  known  as  Billy's 
friend,  the  old  chief  paid  a  beautiful  tribute  to  his 
friend,  "Pahaska,"  and  it  has  been  ringing  in  my 
ears  till  it  seems  to  take  the  measured  beat  of  rhyme. 
It  follows,  as  nearly  as  I  can  translate  it: 

"I  long  for  the  plains  of  the  boundless  West,  the 
seas  of  waving  green,  the  Buffalo  bounding  free 
and  wild,  and  the  yelp  of  the  coyote  lean. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  53 

"I  long  for  the  days  of  long  ago,  when  the  Red 
Man  wooed  the  squaw,  and  sailed  his  love,  his  red- 
skin doe,  on  the  waves  of  the  raging  Kaw. 

"I  long  for  the  days  when  I  was  young,  with  my 
quiver  and  trusty  bow,  when  Pahaska,  the  long- 
haired chief,  was  young  and  was  good  to  know. 

"I  am  growing  old,  my  eye  is  dim,  my  life  has 
been  long  and,  'round  the  mystic  campfire,  my 
friends  await  in  the  Happy  Hunting  Ground. 

"Pahaska,  my  friend,  is  true  to  me;  "We  are 
pards,"  he  says,  "old  boy,"  and  the  firm  clasp  of  the 
long-haired  chief  to  old  Iron  Tail  brings  joy. 

"We  are  nearing  the  last  long  sleep,  we  two, 
Pahaska,  my  friend,  and  I,  so  what  care  I,  with  my 
brother  white,  how  swiftly  time  may  fly. 

"For  soon  the  tom-tom  will  beat  for  me,  and  the 
Red  Men  gather  'round,  and  dance  the  dance  of 
death,  you  see,  ere  I  leave  for  the  Hunting  Ground. 

"And  Pahaska,  long-haired  chief,  will  kneel  and 
talk  to  the  Spirit  Great  about  old  Iron  Tail,  the 
chief,  his  friend  and  Indian  mate. 

"And  then  I'll  go  to  my  horse  and  dog,  who  will 
bark  and  leap  and  bound,  and,  with  my  pipe,  for 
my  friend,  I'll  wait  in  the  Happy  Hunting  Ground. 

"And  Pahaska  will  come  to  greet  me  there,  far 
off  through  the  boundless  blue,  to  the  Spirit  Great 
will  take  me,  as  a  Red  Man,  tried  and  true." 


54  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Fourteenth  "Pow-Wow" 

A  TRAPPER 

THOUGH  still  what  we  would  call  a  kid,  Billy 
started  with  a  companion,  Dan  Harrington,  on 
a  hunting  and  trapping  expedition  along  the  Re- 
publican River  in  Kansas,  taking  a  yoke  of  oxen 
and  a  wagon  of  supplies.  They  had  excellent  luck 
with  beavers  and  were  getting  along  fine,  until  one 
of  their  oxen  broke  its  leg  and  had  to  be  shot.  This 
left  them  crippled.  Added  to  this,  Billy  broke  his 
leg  while  stalking  elk,  slipping  on  an  icy  ledge,  and 
falling  to  the  creek  below.  This  rather  took  the 
tuck  out  of  little  Billy,  and  he  begged  Harrington 
to  shoot  him  and  put  him  out  of  his  misery. 

Harrington,  however,  bandaged  up  the  broken 
leg  as  best  he  could  and,  fixing  Billy  up  as  com- 
fortably as  possible,  started  for  the  nearest  settle- 
ment, about  125  miles  away.  He  wanted  to  get  a 
yoke  of  oxen  and  return  for  Billy.  With  the  best 
of  luck  it  would  take  at  least  twenty  days.  That 
was  a  long  time  to  leave  a  boy  alone  in  a  dug-out 
with  a  broken  leg. 

However,  there  was  no  other  way  out  of  it,  so 
before  leaving  he  gathered  plenty  of  wood,  and  pro- 
visions were  there.  Then  he  bade  Billy  good-bye 
and  started  on  his  long  walk.  As  Billy  told  of  it 
afterward,  it  was  a  long,  tiresome  wait. 

On  the  twelfth  day  after  Harrington  left,  Billy 
was  awakened  by  someone  touching  him  on  the 
shoulder.  He  looked  up  and  saw  an  Indian  in  full 
war  paint  standing  by  his  side.    He  spoke  in  broken 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  55 

English  and  Sioux,  and  asked  Billy  what  he  was 
doing  there,  and  how  many  were  with  him. 

"I  told  them,"  said  Billy,  "for  by  this  time  the 
dug-out  was  filled  with  Indians. 

"Then  an  old  Indian  came  up  to  me  and  I  rec- 
ognized Chief  Rain-in-the-Face  of  the  Sioux,  whom 
I  had  visited  at  his  lodge  near  Fort  Laramie.  I 
showed  him  my  broken  leg  and  asked  him  if  they 
were  going  to  kill  me. 

"  'That  is  what  they  intend  to  do/  said  the  chief, 
'but  I  will  see  what  they  say  about  it.' 

"The  old  chief  had  a  talk  with  his  braves  and 
they  concluded  to  spare  the  life  of  the  'papoose,' 
but  they  took  my  gun  and  revolver  and  most  of  my 
food,  but  were  good  enough  to  give  me  some  after 
it  was  cooked." 

However,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  they  went 
away,  leaving  Billy  alone  again,  and  it  was  a  long, 
tedious,  painful  wait.  Snow  had  fallen  and  wolves 
howled  and  scratched  at  the  door  of  the  dug-out. 
Billy  was  alone  there,  and  without  arms  of  any  kind 
to  protect  himself  should  they  enter. 

On  the  twenty-ninth  day  Billy  was  made  glad  by 
the  voice  of  Harrington  as  he  yelled,  "Whoa — 
Haw!"  to  his  oxen.  Billy  said  he  simply  put  his 
arms  around  Dave's  neck  and  hugged  him,  so  glad 
was  he  to  see  his  faithful  friend. 

In  a  few  days  the  furs  were  loaded  into  the 
wagon  and  the  comrades  took  their  slow  way  to  the 


56 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


settlement.    Billy  rode  on  a  bed  of  fur  which  today- 
would  be  worth  several  thousand  dollars. 

They  sold  their  wagon  and  furs  at  Junction  City 
and  went  with  a  government  train  to  Leavenworth. 
Here  Dave  was  made  a  welcome  guest  at  Cody's 
home. 

Now,  you  Boy  Scouts,  this  is  just  a  chapter  in  the 
life  of  a  boy  like  yourself  who  had  nerve  and  en- 
durance. How  many  of  you  would  relish  a  similar 
experience? 


— «^m#.rafc«^te 


CHAPTER  V 


Fifteenth  "Pow-Wow" 

WESTERN  GIRLS 

TO  write  this  little  sketch,  I  have  taken  to  the 
woods.  Memory  here,  aided  by  the  sighing  of 
the  wind  in  the  trees,  carries  me  back  to  the  heavy, 
timbered  banks  of  the  Missouri  River,  in  the  days 
when  the  West  was  a  trackless  wilderness,  when  the 
forests  were  a  dense  network  of  trees,  bushes  and 
undergrowth,  and  the  prairies  one  grand  Atlantic 
Ocean  of  green,  billowing,  waving  grass. 

This  is  the  setting  for  our  playground  as  boys. 
In  those  wild  western  days,  danger  lurked  on  every 
hand.  The  Indians  were  not  the  subdued  people 
they  now  are;  the  white  man  was  counted  his  game, 
the  same  as  the  buffalo  or  other  wild  animals,  but 
more  —  he  was  counted  their  enemy,  and  the  basis 
of  an  Indian's  worth  and  prominence  with  his  tribe 
was  gauged  by  the  number  of  white  people's  scalps 
which  dangled  from  his  belt. 

So  you  can  see  that  the  playground  of  the  west- 
ern boy  was  full  of  danger.  The  boys  of  the  West 
were  trained  to  these  dangers,  and  were  always  pre- 
pared. They  had  their  fire-arms  and,  what  is  more, 
they  could  use  them.    Where  the  boys  of  today  go 

57 


58  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

a  few  blocks  to  a  park  or  ball  ground  for  their 
pleasure,  miles,  and  sometimes  many  of  them,  were 
compassed  in  our  wild  western  games. 

Our  ponies  were  our  true,  tried  friends ;  our  rifles, 
our  constant  companions. 

As  I  sit  here  writing,  the  wind  sings  a  song  and 
lulls  me  to  sleep.  I  am  carried  back  on  the  en- 
chanted rug,  the  magic  carpet  of  memory.  Billy 
and  Long  Bow,  our  Indian  friend,  are  with  me. 
Our  ponies  graze  quietly  nearby ;  we  look  up  through 
the  leafy  branches  of  the  mammoth  oak  and  build 
our  air  castles. 

It  is  nearing  evening,  the  sun  shines  through 
the  trees,  making  patches  of  shifting  light  on  the 
grass,  as  the  soughing  wind  rustles  through  the 
branches. 

Long  Bow,  with  his  acute  sense,  hears  something 
which  brings  him  to  his  feet.    We  all  arise. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  hoof  beats  —  a  horse 
on  a  dead  run.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came  and,  in 
the  opening,  with  her  black  hair  flying  in  the  wind, 
urging  her  pony  to  its  best,  came  May  Cody,  Billy's 
sister. 

"Quick,  boys,  the  raiders!"  she  said  and,  at  once, 
we  were  on  the  way  back  to  town. 

Our  ponies  seemed  to  know  that  their  best  was 
expected,  and  buckled  down  to  the  race.  Others 
of  the  "girl  scouts"  had  given  the  alarm  and  the 
raiders  were  quickly  turned  away,  but  not  till  two 
of  their  number  were  fixed  for  a  funeral. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  59 

Billy's  rifle  cracked  and  an  arrow  from  Long  Bow 
did  a  good  service.  Others  of  the  "boy  clan"  were 
on  hand  and  the  raiders  who  swooped  down  when 
the  men  folks  of  the  little  settlement  were  away, 
were  taken  care  of  by  Billy  and  his  boy  scouts. 

The  raiders  rode  rapidly  away  to  the  south,  and 
no  more  was  heard  of  them  at  that  time. 

It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  Long  Bow,  with  the 
Indian  in  his  nature,  scalped  his  man,  and  after 
completing  the  job,  raised  the  hair  of  Billy's  victim 
and  presented  the  scalp  to  Cody,  who  told  him  to 
keep  it.  Thus,  at  least  one  Indian  had  an  extra 
scalp  to  his  credit. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  citizens  in  the  evening,  much 
praise  was  awarded  Billy  and  his  boys,  and  one  of 
the  speakers  said,  "We  can  always  feel  safe  if  Billy 
Cody  is  at  home." 

You  can  just  bet  that  all  the  boys  and  girls  were 
proud  of  their  brave  young  leader. 

Times  are  tame  now.  The  West  is  conquered. 
The  vast  prairies  are  seas  of  golden  grain.  The 
trail  of  the  "bull  outfit"  has  given  way  to  steel  rails 
and  the  comet-like  train  of  luxurious  coaches.  The 
buffalo,  with  the  Indian,  are  rapidly  disappearing 
from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  soon,  yes,  before  this 
book  has  worn  out,  the  only  evidences  we  shall  have 
of  the  wild  west  and  its  red  men,  its  wolves,  its 
buffalo,  its  catamounts,  its  broad,  wild  prairie,  will 
be  the  printed  page  of  the  historian.  Even  then, 
many  will  call  it  an  over-drawn  picture. 


60  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Sixteenth  "Pow-Wow" 

PAEDS 

THIS  was  written  some  years  ago.  By  "Pards," 
I  mean  Buffalo  Bill  and  myself,  and  in  this 
connection,  will  state  that  when  Buffalo  Bill  died, 
there  were  twelve  of  the  old  scouts  of  the  plains 
alive.  But  now,  since  the  death  of  Col.  Boggs  of 
Mattoon,  111.,  which  occurred  a  year  ago,  I  find 
myself  alone  —  the  last  of  the  old  scouts. 

But  here's  the  article  on  pards: 

Darn  this  pipe.  I  never  get  it  fairly  going,  but 
I  begin  to  see  things.  It  seems  that  the  smoke  sim- 
ply resolves  itself  into  a  moving  picture,  and  draw- 
ing on  memory,  throws  on  the  ever  changing  screen, 
"days  of  long  ago." 

Not  in  a  comfortable  arm  chair  at  a  place  called 
home;  not  with  warm  slippers,  or  the  latest  Christ- 
mas gift  dressing  gown,  we  read  about  in  stories. 
No,  not  surrounded  with  these  lazy  creature  com- 
forts, but  at  my  desk — my  workshop,  tarrying  after 
the  wheels  have  stopped,  the  machinery  silent  and 
nothing  going  but  my  pipe. 

Oh,  you  fascinating,  comforting  Lady  Nicotine. 
You  who  transform  realities  into  dreams;  you  who 
with  your  soft,  sense-soothing  anaesthetic  draw  a 
veil  of  the  past  twixt  trouble,  worry,  sadness,  hope- 
lessness and  I. 

Am  I  dozing  off,  or  just  remembering? 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  61 

The  low,  soft  orchestra,  almost  a  song  of  united 
instruments,  fills  the  air  with  songs  of  long  ago. 

Two  boys  are  in  a  little  western  church.  The 
choir  is  softly,  sweetly  singing. 

"Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me " 

The  good,  old,  fatherly  gray-haired  preacher 
kneels  and  prays  for  the  souls  of  his  flock.  He  pic- 
tures the  suffering  of  the  Saviour,  and  through  the 
films  of  smoke  I  see  the  loving  Saviour  with  hand 
outstretched  to  me;  I  hear  Him  say:  "Son,  give  me 
thy  heart,"  a  soft,  sweet  voice  of  a  motherly  old 
lady  approaches  us  —  my  pard  and  I.  She  kneels 
by  us,  and  with  her  hand  on  our  shoulders  prays 
for  "these  two  dear  boys." 

This  was  the  dear  Christian  woman  known  by  all 
as  Aunt  Emaline.  Our  boyish  hearts  were  touched, 
and  even  now  though  more  than  half  a  century  has 
passed,  I  feel  the  thrill  as  then. 

"Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cling,"  sang  the  choir,  and 
the  fatherly  old  man  invited  all  to  come  forward  and 
give  themselves  to  "the  one  who  died  that  we  might 
live." 

"Shall  we  go?"  said  my  pard.  "Come  on  up,  my 
boys,  with  Aunty,"  said  the  good  woman,  and  as  we 
walked  down  the  aisle  of  that  little  church,  the  choir 
sang. 

"Nothing  in  my  hand  I  bring, 
Simply  to  thy  cross  I  cling." 


62  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

That  was  more  than  half  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Where  are  the  promises  made  by  boyish  lips? 
Where  are  those  who  worshipped  then?  Where  are 
the  hopes,  the  resolutions,  the  bright  outlook?  — 
dust  and  ashes. 

The  scene  changes,  and  the  moving  film  shows  me 
two  young  men,  strong,  stalwart,  and  in  the  prime 
of  life.  The  west  was  no  longer  young.  A  city  had 
grown  from  the  village,  and  it  had  built  away  from 
that  little  church,  leaving  that  little  house  of  worship, 
surrounded  by  its  marble  markings  of  the  dead,  far 
out  in  the  suburbs.  Shrubbery  and  wild  bushes  had 
grown  up,  and  what  were  bushes  before  were  now 
well  grown  trees.  The  grave  yard  was  overgrown 
with  weeds,  flowers  and  bushes  —  nature's  veil  of 
forgetfulness. 

But  still  it  was  the  house  of  the  Saviour  —  it  had 
not  outlived  its  usefulness. 

As  we,  my  pard  and  I,  walked  slowly  that  night 
by  the  little  church,  we  heard 

"Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me." 

"Wait,"  said  my  pard,  "Do  you  remember?" 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"Let's  kneel,"  said  he.  And  in  the  dense  growth  of 
bushes  we  knelt,  and  —  remembered. 

Pard  has  gone  now.  I  wonder  if  he  remembers 
still? 


CHAPTER  VI 

Seventeenth  "Pow-Wow" 

"AND  A  PROTESTANT,  TOO!" 

(Written  in  1910) 

LITTLE  Matt  Malone,  one  of  our  neighbor  boys 
i  of  Irish  extraction,  was  set  upon  by  a  gang  of 
levee  roughs,  who  not  only  abused  the  little  fellow, 
but  took  from  him  his  "beads"  as  they  called  it.  It 
was  his  rosary,  and  was  highly  prized  by  him. 

Billy  went  in  and  licked  the  bully,  and  rescued 
little  Matt. 

"The  dirty  divil  has  me  rosary,"  said  Matt. 

"What's  a  rosary?"  said  Billy. 

He  told  Billy  what  it  was  and  he  went  to  the 
bully  and  made  him  hand  over  "that  string  of  beads, 
and  do  it  quick,  too."  The  bully,  now  recovered 
from  the  last  punch  Billy  give  him,  showed  signs  of 
fight.  Billy,  recognizing  the  sign,  went  at  him  and 
gave  him  such  a  licking  as  he  remembers  today,  if  he 
still  lives.  He  got  the  "beads"  and  though  they  were 
broken  in  the  struggle,  and  the  crucifix  separated 
from  the  rest,  he  returned  them  to  poor  little  Matt. 

His  mother,  telling  of  the  affray  to  the  neighbors 
and  Sisters  of  Charity,  spoke  very  highly  of  Billy, 
and  at  the  end  of  each  sentence  she  said:  "And  a 
Protestant  Boy,  too!  Think  of  that." 

63 


64  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

As  I  look  back  at  it,  I  have  to  laugh  as  I  recall 
Billy's  words  as  he  punched  the  bully. 

"Gimme  that  picture  of  Jesus,  gimme  that  picture 
of  Jesus." 

This  he  repeated  as  he  punched  the  bully,  until  it 
was  finally  handed  him,  and  Billy  returned  the  little 
metal  image  of  the  Saviour  to  little  Matt. 

Billy  was  not  quarrelsome,  and  I  never  knew  him 
to  get  into  a  mixup  on  his  own  account.  He  was  at 
all  times  ready  to  take  up  the  wrong  of  somebody 
else,  and  as  a  rule  all  his  little  fracases  were  made 
for  him,  and  he  jumped  into  it  and  cleaned  it  up. 

Bravery  is  not  confined  to  killing  Indians,  to  tak- 
ing up  the  fights  of  other  boys,  or  to  fighting  in  gen- 
eral, but  it  reaches  farther  and  deeper  than  all  these. 

It  means  to  defend  the  right  as  God  gives  you  to 
see  the  right.  It  means  for  boy  scouts  or  men  scouts 
who  profess  to  be  brave,  to  ally  all  their  forces  with 
the  right,  to  take  the  part  of  the  poor  and  weak  in 
all  cases,  as  for  instance  the  nature  of  the  "Old 
Scout"  in  private  life.  Let  us  see  how  this  figures 
out: 

The  deadly  bow  and  poisoned  arrow  are  of  the 
past.  The  bow  string  is  broken;  the  arrows  repose 
in  their  quiver  as  they  hang  on  the  wall  of  the  lodge. 
The  rifle  no  longer  responds  to  the  deadly  aim  and 
unerring  trigger  of  the  Indian  fighter.  The  buffalo 
no  longer  roams  the  prairie.  The  trackless  plains 
have  been  gridironed  by  the  steel  pathway  of  the 
avenues  of  commerce.    Our  country  has  been  cap- 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  65 

tured  from  savagery  and  has  succumbed  to  civili- 
zation. 

But  still  there's  room  for  bravery,  chivalry  and 
scouting.  Has  the  "Old  Scout"  lost  his  nature?  Has 
he  ceased  to  take  up  the  rights  and  right  the  wrongs 
of  the  oppressed? 

In  his  everyday  life  he  sees  opportunities  to  help 
the  poor  and  take  up  the  cause  of  the  under  dog  in 
the  battle  of  life. 

See  him  in  the  arena,  placing  history  before  you. 
See  him  in  action  in  the  mimic  warfare  of  the  Wild 
West.  See  him  as  he  proudly  rides  at  the  head  of 
the  rough  riders  of  the  world  and  introduces  to  you 
the  Congress  of  Rough  Riders. 

But  behind  the  scenes,  he  is  a  busy  man.  In  his 
tent,  while  the  big  show  is  going  on,  he  is  answering 
telegrams,  letters,  etc.,  and  keeping  in  touch  with 
his  private  work  all  over  the  country.  Here  is  a 
letter  authorizing  his  bank  in  this  or  that  city  to  see 

that  old  Mr. ,  a  veteran  of  the  plains,  has  the 

comforts  of  life.  Here  goes  his  draft  out  to  the 
widow  of  Pony  Bob  in  Chicago,  to  ease  her  declining 
years.  Here  a  letter  of  good  cheer  to  this  or  that 
friend  in  an  isolated  village  away  in  the  west,  the 
south  or  east.  Here  a  donation  for  charity  to  be 
handled  by  friends  whom  he  knows  he  can  trust. 
Here  a  letter  to  a  Commercial  Club,  in  this  or  that 
city  where  he  has  interests,  and  all,  yes  all,  are  writ- 
ten in  a  spirit  of  chivalry,  in  many  instances  backed 
by  the  weapon  of  cash,  to  drive  the  wolf  from  the 


66  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

door,   or  bolster  up   an  unfortunate   friend   who's 
"pulling  hard  against  the  stream." 

If  Buffalo  Bill  dies  a  poor  man,  it  will  not  be  for 
the  reason  that  he  has  not  made  money,  but  because 
of  the  open  hand  of  generous  charity  which  has 
characterized  his  life  from  boyhood. 

Many  times  in  our  boyhood  has  Billy  led  the 
"clan"  around  with  saws  and  axes  to  the  home  of 
this  or  that  poor  old  couple  or  widow,  to  get  in  their 
winter  wood.  Many  a  time  have  we  made  war  on 
the  timber  and  hauled  to  the  homes  of  these  un- 
fortunates, cords  of  wood.  And  all  this  suggested 
Billy,  who  as  our  recognized  leader  never  said  "go 
and  do"  this  or  that,  but  "Let  us  go  and  do  it." 

An  old  lady  lay  sick.  She  was  poor.  Billy  took 
up  her  case,  and  in  school  told  all  about  her  mis- 
fortune. He  grew  interested  in  his  talk  and,  while 
I've  heard  him  try  to  speak  "The  Boy  Stood  on  the 
Burning  Deck,"  he  never  spoke  so  well,  nor  so  elo- 
quently as  when  he  was  telling  the  story  of  that  poor 
old  Irish  lady. 

"Mr.  Quantrell,"  said  he,  for  it  was  the  Quantrell 
who  afterwards  became  the  notorious  outlaw  who 
led  the  massacre  at  Lawrence,  Kansas,  who  was  our 
teacher,  "Mr.  Quantrell,  may  I  pass  the  hat?" 

"Certainly,  Billy,"  said  he,  "and  here's  a  dollar  to 
start  you  off." 

Billy  took  his  hat,  went  down  into  his  own  pocket 
first,  and  when  our  teacher  put  in  his  dollar  it  struck 
another  piece  of  coin.    The  hat  was  passed,  and  the 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  67 

dimes  and  quarters  showed  a  goodly  spirit  in  the 
school  children  (there  were  no  pennies  there). 

Again  the  same  spirit  of  chivalry  came  to  the 
front  when  he  started  a  contribution  for  a  poor 
woman  and  her  children  out  in  a  mining  camp,  a 
reference  to  which  is  made  in  a  little  verse. 

But  these  are  only  a  few  of  many  cases.  As  I  say, 
if  Buffalo  Bill  dies  a  poor  man,  it  is  because  he 
delighted  in  the  game  of  "Help  your  neighbor"  and 
I  am  not  so  sure  but  that  he  will  even  in  this  life 
realize  the  full  meaning  of  the  verse  in  our  Saviour's 
teaching,  "He  that  giveth  unto  the  poor  lendeth 
unto  the  Lord." 

Boys,  can  you  be  the  same  kind  ,of  true  blue 
"Cody  Scouts?" 

Eighteenth  fCPow-Wow" 

TWO  BILLYS 

IF  the  modest  little  town  of  LeClaire,  Iowa,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Mississippi  never  takes  on  a  boom 
and  gets  into  the  limelight  in  the  commercial  world, 
she  still  has  her  place  on  the  map,  as  the  birthplace 
of  Buffalo  Bill,  and  is  the  town  where  Hon.  W.  C. 
Brown,  president  of  the  New  York  Central  Rail- 
road, was  born.  Both  these  boys  have  grown  to  man- 
hood, and  preserved  the  same  hardy,  undaunted  spirit 
of  their  pioneer  ancestors. 

They  were  both  born  poor  boys  and  started  in  life 
without  a  pull,  and  by  their  own  unaided  efforts 


68  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

have  carved  out  their  own  way  to  fortune  and  to 
fame. 

Mr.  Brown  taught  the  effete  east  how  to  do  things. 
He  pioneered  or  pushed  into  the  mazes  of  big  busi- 
ness, and  became  a  great  captain  of  industry.  With 
him  it  was  not  a  leap  to  the  top  of  the  ladder.  He 
did  not  bound  to  the  driver's  seat  and  take  the  reins 
of  that  mighty  business.  It  was  his  motto  to  work. 
There  was  no  job  too  small  for  him  to  start  on, 
and  with  every  job  he  got  he  learned  a  higher  lesson 
in  the  school  of  life. 

Mr.  Brown  was  not  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his 
mouth,  but  what  is  far  better,  he  had  the  good  red 
bounding  blood  of  the  west — the  blood  of  pioneers, 
of  a  father  and  mother  who  looked  the  setting  sun 
in  the  face  and  dared  to  follow  its  call  to  the  new 
country  beyond  the  Mississippi. 

Here  they  settled  and  here  they  built  their  hum- 
ble western  shack,  and  with  other  pioneers,  did  their 
share  towards  the  reclamation  of  the  west  from  its 
savage  nature. 

Here,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  a  future 
captain  of  industry  first  saw  the  light.  Right  in  the 
little  settlement  of  LeClaire,  washed  on  the  east 
by  the  swift  running  Father  of  Waters,  and  backed 
by  the  rounding  timbered  hills  which  line  its  banks, 
he  was  a  boy,  who  from  childhood  up,  lived  with  a 
purpose.  Step  by  step  he  accomplished  things,  at 
first  the  work  or  play  of  childhood,  and  as  he  sur- 
mounted one  obstacle,  reached  out  for  the  next  to 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  69 

conquer.  His  school  days  were  passed  in  the  primi- 
tive western  school.  A  slab  of  lumber  for  a  seat,  and 
the  simplest  surroundings,  withstanding  the  lure  of 
the  fishing  rod,  or  the  seductive  call  of  Bob  White, 
till  after  school  hours. 

Like  Billy  Cody,  he  was  a  born  leader,  and  while 
Cody  in  his  conquering  went  to  the  further  western 
wilds,  Billy  Brown  found  that  the  east  needed  a 
conqueror  in  certain  lines,  and  true  to  his  native 
born  principles  went  after  it. 

If  the  great  president  of  railroads  reads  this, 
sketched  in  primitive  style,  just  sixteen  miles  from 
his  birthplace,  he  may  smile  and  poof-poof.  Then, 
he  will  light  another  of  those  big  cigars  and  as  he 
lies  back  in  the  easy  chair  in  his  sumptuous  apart- 
ments in  New  York  City,  the  smoke  in  its  convolu- 
tions will  form  memory  pictures.  It  will  take  him 
back  to  LeClaire,  it  will  paint  for  him  pictures  pos- 
sible to  no  other  artist,  faces  long  forgotten  will 
appear,  he  will  call  names  he  has  not  spoken  for 
years. 

See  that  barefoot  boy  going  past  with  the  fishing 
rod,  the  cows  coming  home,  the  tinkle  of  the  cow 
bell  just  up  on  the  hill  —  the  boys'  gathering  place 
under  the  spreading  elm.  Billy,  the  elm  is  all  that  is 
left  of  the  old  crowd,  save  one  or  two  people  who 
have  grown  gray  as  the  elm  has  grown  green,  but 
many  of  our  old  friends'  voices  have  long  been 
hushed  and  a  stone  marks  their  resting  place. 


70 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


Little  old  LeClaire  still  holds  out  a  welcome  for 
her  two  Billys — one  who  wandered  west  and  one 
who  wandered  east. 


%k£*i*B&^s& 


CHAPTER  VII 


Nineteenth  "Pow-Wow" 

THE    PONY    EXPRESS 

COLONEL  CODY,  in  telling  the  story  of  his 
own  experiences  with  the  Pony  Express,  says: 

"The  enterprise  was  just  being  started.  The  line 
was  stocked  with  horses  and  put  into  good  running 
order.  At  Julesburg  I  met  Mr.  George  Chrisman, 
the  leading  wagon  master  of  Russell,  Majors,  and 
Waddell,  who  had  always  been  a  good  friend  to  me. 
He  had  bought  out  'Old  Jules,'  and  was  then  the 
owner  of  Julesburg  Ranch,  and  the  agent  of  the 
Pony  Express  line.  He  hired  me  at  once  as  a  Pony 
Express  rider,  but  as  I  was  so  young  he  thought  I 
was  not  able  to  stand  the  fierce  riding  which  was 
required  of  the  messengers.  He  knew,  however,  that 
I  had  been  raised  in  the  saddle,  that  I  felt  more  at 
home  there  than  in  any  other  place,  and  he  saw  that 
I  was  confident  that  I  could  stand  the  racket,  and 
could  ride  as  far  and  endure  it  as  well  as  some  of 
the  old  riders.  He  gave  me  a  short  route  of  forty-five 
miles,  with  the  stations  fifteen  miles  apart  and  three 
changes  of  horses.    I  was  fortunate  in  getting  well- 

71 


72  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

broken  animals,  and  being  so  light  I  easily  made  my 
forty-five  miles  on  my  first  trip  out,  and  ever  after- 
ward. 

"As  the  warm  days  of  summer  approached,  I 
longed  for  the  cool  air  of  the  mountains;  and  to  the 
mountains  I  determined  to  go.  When  I  returned  to 
Leavenworth  I  met  my  old  wagon  master  and  friend, 
Lewis  Simpson,  who  was  fitting  out  a  train  at  Atch- 
ison and  loading  it  with  supplies  for  the  Overland 
Stage  Company,  of  which  Mr.  Russell,  my  old  em- 
ployer, was  one  of  the  proprietors.  Simpson  was 
going  with  this  train  to  Fort  Laramie  and  points 
farther  west. 

"  'Come  along  with  me,  Billy,'  said  he.  'I'll  give 
you  a  good  lay-out.    I  want  you  with  me.' 

"  'I  don't  know  that  I  would  like  to  go  as  far 
west  as  that  again,'  I  replied.  'But  I  do  want  to 
ride  the  Pony  Express  once  more;  there's  some  life 
in  that.' 

'Yes,  that's  so;  but  it  will  soon  shake  the  life  out 
of  you,'  said  he.  'However,  if  that's  what  you've  got 
your  mind  set  on,  you  had  better  come  to  Atchison 
with  me  and  see  Mr.  Russell,  who,  I'm  pretty  cer- 
tain, will  give  you  a  situation.' 

"I  met  Mr.  Russell  there  and  asked  him  for  em- 
ployment as  a  Pony  Express  rider;  he  gave  me  a 
letter  to  Mr.  Slade,  who  was  then  the  stage  agent 
for  the  division  extending  from  Julesburg  to  Rocky 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  78 

Ridge.  Slade  had  his  headquarters  at  Horseshoe 
Station,  thirty-six  miles  west  of  Fort  Laramie,  and 
I  made  the  trip  thither  in  company  with  Simpson 
and  his  train. 

"Almost  the  first  person  I  saw  after  dismounting 
from  my  horse  was  Slade.  I  walked  up  to  him  and 
presented  Mr.  Russell's  letter,  which  he  hastily 
opened  and  read.  With  a  sweeping  glance  of  his 
eye  he  took  my  measure  from  head  to  foot,  and  then 
said: 

"  'My  boy,  you  are  too  young  for  a  Pony  Express 
rider.   It  takes  men  for  that  business.' 

"  'I  rode  two  months  last  year  on  Bill  Trotter's 
division,  sir,  and  filled  the  bill  then,  and  I  think  I 
am  better  able  to  ride  now,'  said  I. 

"  'What!  Are  you  the  boy  that  was  riding  there, 
and  was  called  the  youngest  rider  on  the  road?' 

"  'I  am  the  same  boy,"  I  replied,  confident  that 
everything  was  now  all  right  for  me. 

"  'I  have  heard  of  you  before.  You  are  a  year  or 
so  older  now,_and  I  think  you  can  stand  it.  I'll  give 
you  a  trial,  anyhow,  and  if  you  weaken  you  can 
come  back  to  Horseshoe  Station  and  tend  stock." 

"Thus  ended  the  interview.  The  next  day  he 
assigned  me  to  duty  on  the  road  from  Red  Buttes 
on  the  North  Platte  to  the  Three  Crossings  of  the 
Sweetwater  —  a  distance  of  seventy-six  miles  —  and 
I  began  riding  at  once.   It  was  a  long  piece  of  road, 


74  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

but  I  was  equal  to  the  undertaking,  and  soon  after- 
ward had  an  opportunity  to  exhibit  my  power  of 
endurance  as  a  Pony  Express  rider. 

"For  some  time  matters  progressed  very  smoothly, 
though  I  had  no  idea  that  things  would  always  con- 
tinue so.  I  was  well  aware  that  that  portion  of  the 
trail  to  which  I  had  been  assigned  was  not  only  the 
most  desolate  and  lonely,  but  it  was  more  eagerly 
watched  by  the  savages  than  elsewhere  on  the  long 
route. 

"Slade,  the  boss,  whenever  I  arrived  safely  at  the 
station,  and  before  I  started  out  again,  was  always 
very  earnest  in  his  suggestions  to  look  out  for  my 
scalp. 

"  'You  know,  Billy/  he  would  say,  'I  am  satisfied 
yours  will  not  always  be  the  peaceful  route  it  has 
been  with  you  so  far.  Every  time  you  come  in  I 
expect  to  hear  that  you  have  met  with  some  startling 
adventure  that  does  not  always  fall  to  the  average 
express  rider.' 

"I  replied  that  I  was  always  cautious,  made  de- 
tours whenever  I  noticed  anything  suspicious.  'You 
bet  I  look  out  for  number  one.'  The  change  soon 
came. 

"One  day,  when  I  galloped  into  Three  Crossings, 
my  home  station,  I  found  that  the  rider  who  was 
expected  to  take  the  trip  out  on  my  arrival,  had 
gotten  into  a  drunken  row  the  night  before  and  had 
been  killed.  This  left  that  division  without  a  rider. 
As  it  was  very  difficult  to  engage  men  for  the  serv- 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  75 

ice  in  that  uninhabited  region,  the  superintendent 
requested  me  to  make  the  trip  until  another  rider 
could  be  secured.  The  distance  to  the  next  station, 
Rocky  Ridge,  was  eighty-five  miles  and  through  a 
very  bad  and  dangerous  country  but  the  emergency 
was  great  and  I  concluded  to  try  it.  I,  therefore, 
started  promptly  from  Three  Crossings  without  more 
than  a  moment's  rest;  I  pushed  on  with  the  usual 
rapidity,  entering  every  relay  station  on  time,  and 
accomplished  the  round  trip  of  322  miles  back  to  Red 
Buttes  without  a  single  mishap,  and  on  time.  This 
stands  on  the  records  as  being  the  longest  Pony  Ex- 
press journey  ever  made. 

"A  week  after  making  this  trip,  andv  while  passing 
over  the  route  again,  I  was  jumped  on  by  a  band  of 
Sioux  Indians  who  dashed  out  from  a  sand  ravine 
nine  miles  west  of  Horse  Creek.  They  were  armed 
with  pistols,  and  gave  me  a  close  call  with  several 
bullets,  but  it  fortunately  happened  that  I  was 
mounted  on  the  fleetest  horse  belonging  to  the  ex- 
press company  and  one  that  was  possessed  of  re- 
markable endurance.  Being  cut  off  from  retreat 
back  to  Horseshoe,  I  put  spurs  to  my  horse,  and 
lying  flat  on  his  back,  kept  straight  for  Sweetwater, 
the  next  station,  which  I  reached  without  accident. 

Upon  reaching  that  place,  however,  I  found  a  sorry 
condition  of  affairs,  as  the  Indians  had  made  a  raid 
on  the  station  the  morning  of  my  adventure  with 
them,  and  after  killing  the  stock  tender  had  driven 
off  all  the  horses,  so  that  I  was  unable  to  get  a  re- 


76  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

mount.  I,  therefore,  continued  on  to  Ploutz's  Sta- 
tion, twelve  miles  farther,  thus  making  twenty-four 
miles  straight  run  with  one  horse.  I  told  the  people 
at  Sweetwater  Bridge,  and  went  on  and  finished  the 
trip  without  any  further  adventure. 

"About  the  middle  of  September,  the  Indians  be- 
came very  troublesome  on  the  line  of  the  stage  road 
along  the  Sweetwater.  Between  Split  Rock  and 
Three  Crossings  they  robbed  a  stage,  killed  the 
driver  and  two  passengers,  and  badly  wounded  Lieu- 
tenant Flowers,  the  assistant  division  agent.  The 
red-skinned  thieves  also  drove  off  the  stock  from  the 
different  stations,  and  were  continually  lying  in  wait 
for  the  passing  stages  and  Pony  Express  riders,  so 
that  we  had  to  take  many  desperate  chances  in  run- 
ning the  gauntlet. 

"The  Indians  had  now  become  so  bad  and  had 
stolen  so  much  stock  that  it  was  decided  to  stop  the 
Pony  Express  for  at  least  six  weeks,  and  to  run  the 
stages  only  occasionally  during  that  period;  in  fact, 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  continue  the  enter- 
prise much  longer  without  restocking  the  line. 

"While  we  were  thus  all  lying  idle,  a  party  was 
organized  to  go  out  and  search  for  stolen  stock. 
This  party  was  composed  of  stage  drivers,  express 
riders,  stock  tenders,  and  ranchmen  —  forty  of  them 
altogether  —  and  they  were  well  armed  and  well 
mounted.  They  were  mostly  men  who  had  under- 
gone all  kinds  of  hardships  and  braved  every  danger, 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  77 

and  they  were  ready  and  anxious  to  "tackle"  any 
number  of  Indians.  Wild  Bill,  who  had  been  driv- 
ing stage  on  the  road  and  had  recently  come 
down  to  our  division,  was  elected  captain  of  the 
company.  It  was  supposed  that  the  stolen  stock  had 
been  taken  to  the  head  of  Powder  River  and  vicin- 
ity, and  the  party,  of  which  I  was  a  member,  started 
out  for  that  section  in  high  hopes  of  success. 

"Twenty  miles  out  from  Sweetwater  Bridge,  at 
the  head  of  Horse  Creek,  we  found  an  Indian  trail 
running  north  toward  Powder  River,  and  we  could 
see  by  tracks  that  most  of  the  horses  had  been  re- 
cently shod  and  were  undoubtedly  our  stolen  stage 
stock.  Pushing  rapidly  forward,  we  followed  this 
trail  to  Powder  River;  thence  down  this  stream  to 
within  about  forty  miles  of  the  spot  where  old  Fort 
Reno  now  stands.  Here  the  trail  took  a  more  west- 
erly course  along  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  leading 
eventually  to  Crazy  Woman's  Fork  —  a  tributary 
of  Powder  River.  At  this  point  we  discovered  that 
the  party  whom  we  were  trailing  had  been  joined 
by  another  band  of  Indians,  and  judging  from  the 
fresh  appearance  of  the  trail,  the  united  body  could 
not  have  left  this  spot  more  than  twenty-four  hours 
before. 

"Being  aware  that  we  were  now  in  the  heart  of 
the  hostile  country  and  might  at  any  moment  find 
more  Indians  than  we  had  lost,  we  advanced  with 
more  caution  than  usual  and  kept  a  sharp  lookout. 
As  we  were  approaching  Clear  Creek,  another  trib- 


78  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

utary  of  Powder  River,  we  discovered  Indians  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  creek,  some  three  miles  dis- 
tant. At  least  we  saw  horses  grazing,  which  was  a 
sure  sign  that  there  were  Indians  there. 

"The  Indians,  thinking  themselves  in  comparative 
safety,  never  before  having  been  followed  so  far 
into  their  own  country  by  the  white  men,  had  neg- 
lected to  put  out  any  scouts.  They  had  no  idea  that 
there  were  any  white  men  in  that  part  of  the  coun- 
try. We  got  the  lay  of  their  camp,  and  then  held 
a  council  to  consider  and  mature  a  plan  for  captur- 
ing it.  We  knew  full  well  that  the  Indians  would 
outnumber  us  at  least  three  to  one,  and  perhaps 
more.  Upon  the  advice  and  suggestion  of  Wild 
Bill,  it  was  finally  decided  that  we  should  wait  until 
it  was  nearly  dark,  and  then  after  creeping  as  close 
to  them  as  possible,  make  a  dash  through  their  camp, 
and  then  stampede  the  horses. 

"This  plan,  at  the  proper  time,  was  very  success- 
fully executed.  The  dash  upon  the  enemy  was  a 
complete  surprise  to  them.  They  were  so  overcome 
with  astonishment  that  they  did  not  recover  from 
the  surprise  of  this  sudden  charge  until  after  we 
had  ridden  pell-mell  through  their  camp  and  got 
away  with  our  own  horses  as  well  as  theirs.  We  at 
once  circled  the  horses  around  toward  the  south,  and 
after  getting  them  on  the  south  side  of  Clear  Creek, 
some  twenty  of  our  men,  just  as  the  darkness  was 
coming  on,  rode  back  and  gave  the  Indians  a  few 
parting  shots.     We  then  took  up  our  line  of  march 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  79 

for  Sweetwater  Bridge,  where  we  arrived  four  days 
afterward  with  all  our  own  horses  and  about  one 
hundred  captured  Indian  ponies. 

"The  expedition  had  proved  a  grand  success,  and 
the  event  was  celebrated  in  the  usual  manner  —  by 
a  grand  spree.  The  only  store  at  Sweetwater  Bridge 
did  a  rushing  business  for  several  days.  The  re- 
turned stock  hunters  drank  and  gambled  and  fought. 
The  Indian  ponies,  which  had  been  distributed 
among  the  captors,  passed  from  hand  to  hand  at 
almost  every  deal  of  cards.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
limit  to  the  rioting  and  carousing;  revelry  reigned 
supreme.  On  the  third  day  of  the  orgy,  Slade,  who 
had  heard  the  news,  came  up  to  the  bridge  and  took 
a  hand  in  the  'fun/  as  it  was  called.  To  add  some 
variation  and  excitement  to  the  occasion,  Slade  got 
into  a  quarrel  with  a  stage  driver  and  shot  him, 
killing  him  almost  instantly. 

"The  boys  became  so  elated  as  well  as  'elevated' 
over  their  success  against  the  Indians,  that  most  of 
them  were  in  favor  of  going  back  and  cleaning  out 
the  whole  Indian  race.  One  old  driver,  especially, 
Dan  Smith,  was  eager  to  open  a  war  on  all  the 
hostile  nations,  and  had  the  drinking  been  continued 
another  week  he  certainly  would  have  undertaken 
the  job  single-handed  and  alone.  The  spree  finally 
came  to  an  end;  the  men  sobered  down  and  aban- 
doned the  idea  of  invading  the  hostile  country.  The 
recovered  horses  were  replaced  on  the  road,  and  the 


80  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

stages  and  Pony  Express  again  began  running  on 
time. 

"Slade,  having  taken  a  great  fancy  to  me,  said, 
'Billy,  I  want  you  to  come  down  to  my  headquar- 
ters and  I'll  make  you  a  sort  of  supernumerary 
rider,  and  send  you  out  only  when  it  is  necessary.' 

"I  accepted  the  offer  and  went  with  him  down 
to  Horseshoe,  where  I  had  a  comparatively  easy  time 
of  it.  I  had  always  been  fond  of  hunting,  and  I 
now  had  a  good  opportunity  to  gratify  my  ambi- 
tion in  that  direction,  as  I  had  plenty  of  spare  time 
on  my  hands.  In  this  connection  I  will  relate  one 
of  my  bear  hunting  adventures. 

One  day,  when  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,  I  saddled 
up  an  extra  Pony  Express  horse  and  struck  out  for 
the  foothills  of  Laramie  Peak  for  a  bear  hunt.  Rid- 
ing carelessly  along,  and  breathing  the  cool  and 
bracing  mountain  air  which  came  down  from  the 
slopes,  I  felt  as  only  a  man  can  feel  who  is  roaming 
over  the  prairies  of  the  far  West,  well  armed  and 
mounted  on  a  fleet  and  gallant  steed.  The  perfect 
freedom  which  he  enjoys  is  in  itself  a  refreshing 
stimulant  to  the  mind  as  well  as  the  body.  Such  in- 
deed were  my  feelings  on  this  beautiful  day  as  I 
rode  up  the  valley  of  the  Horseshoe.  Occasionally  I 
scared  up  a  flock  of  sage  hens  or  a  jack  rabbit. 
Antelopes  and  deer  were  almost  always  in  sight  in 
any  direction,  but  as  they  were  not  the  kind  of 
game  I  was  after  on  that  day  I  passed  them  by  and 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  81 

kept  on  toward  the  mountains.  The  farther  I  rode 
the  rougher  and  wilder  became  the  country,  and  I 
knew  that  I  was  approaching  the  haunts  of  the  bear. 
I  did  not  discover  any,  however,  although  I  saw 
plenty  of  tracks  in  the  snow. 

"About  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  my  horse 
having  become  tired,  and  myself  being  rather  weary, 
I  shot  a  sage  hen,  and,  dismounting,  I  unsaddled 
my  horse  and  tied  him  to  a  small  tree,  where  he 
could  easily  feed  on  the  mountain  grass.  I  then 
built  a  little  fire,  and  broiling  the  chicken  and  sea- 
soning it  with  salt  and  pepper  which  I  had  obtained 
from  my  saddlebags,  I  soon  sat  down  to  a  'genuine 
square  meal,'  which  I  greatly  relished. 

"After  resting  for  a  couple  of  hours,  I  remounted 
and  resumed  my  upward  trip  to  the  mountain,  hav- 
ing made  up  my  mind  to  camp  out  that  night  rather 
than  go  back  without  a  bear,  which  my  friends  knew 
I  had  gone  out  for.  As  the  days  were  growing 
short,  night  soon  came  on,  and  I  looked  around  fo? 
a  suitable  camping  place.  While  thus  engaged,  I 
scared  up  a  flock  of  sage  hens,  two  of  which  I  shot, 
intending  to  have  one  for  supper  and  the  other  for 
breakfast. 

"By  this  time  it  was  becoming  quite  dark,  and  I 
rode  down  to  one  of  the  little  mountain  streams, 
where  I  found  an  open  place  in  the  timber  suitable 
for  a  camp.  I  dismounted,  and  after  unsaddling 
my  horse  and  hitching  him  to  a  tree,  I  prepared  to 


82  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

start  a  fire.  Just  then  I  was  startled  by  hearing  a 
horse  whinnying  farther  up  the  stream.  It  was 
quite  a  surprise  to  me,  and  I  immediately  ran  to 
my  animal  to  keep  him  from  answering,  as  horses 
usually  do  in  such  cases.  I  thought  that  the  strange 
horse  might  belong  to  some  roaming  band  of  In- 
dians, as  I  knew  of  no  white  men  being  in  that 
portion  of  the  country  at  that  time.  I  was  certain 
that  the  owner  of  the  strange  horse  could  not  be 
far  distant,  and  I  was  very  anxious  to  find  out 
who  my  neighbor  was  before  letting  him  know  that 
I  was  in  his  vicinity.  I,  therefore,  resaddled  my 
horse,  and  leaving  him  tied  so  that  I  could  easily 
reach  him,  I  took  my  gun  and  started  out  on  a 
scouting  expedition  up  the  stream.  I  had  gone 
about  four  hundred  yards  when,  in  a  bend  of  the 
stream,  I  discovered  ten  or  fifteen  horses  grazing. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  creek  a  light  was  shining 
high  up  the  mountain  bank.  Approaching  the  mys- 
terious spot  as  cautiously  as  possible,  and  when 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  light,  which  I  discovered 
came  from  a  dug-out  in  the  mountain  side,  I  heard 
voices,  and  soon  I  was  able  to  distinguish  the  words, 
as  they  proved  to  be  in  my  own  language.  Then 
I  knew  that  the  occupants  of  the  dug-out  were  white 
men.  Thinking  that  they  might  be  a  party  of  trap- 
pers, I  boldly  walked  up  to  the  door  and  knocked 
for  admission.  The  voices  instantly  ceased,  and  for 
a  moment  a  deathlike  silence  reigned  inside.  Then 
there  seemed  to  follow  a  kind  of  hurried  whispering 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  88 

—  a  sort  of  consultation  —  and  then  someone  called 
out: 

"  'Who's  there?' 

"  'A  friend  and  a  white  man,'  I  replied. 

"The  door  opened,  and  a  big,  ugly-looking  fellow 
stepped  forth  and  said: 

"  'Come  in.' 

"I  accepted  the  invitation  with  some  degree  of 
fear  and  hesitation,  which  I  endeavored  to  conceal, 
as  I  thought  it  was  too  late  to  back  out,  and  that 
it  would  never  do  to  weaken  at  that  point,  whether 
they  were  friends  or  foes.  Upon  entering  the  dug- 
out my  eyes  fell  upon  eight  as  rough  and  villainous 
looking  men  as  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  « Two  of  them 
I  instantly  recognized  as  teamsters  who  had  been 
driving  in  Lew  Simpson's  train,  a  few  months  be- 
fore, and  had  been  discharged. 

"They  were  charged  with  horse-stealing  and  rob- 
bery by  a  ranchman;  and,  having  stolen  his  horses, 
it  was  supposed  that  they  had  left  the  country.  I 
gave  them  no  signs  of  recognition,  however,  deem- 
ing it  advisable  to  let  them  remain  in  ignorance  as 
to  who  I  was.  It  was  a  hard  crowd,  and  I  con- 
cluded the  sooner  I  could  get  away  from  them  the 
better  it  would  be  for  me.  I  felt  confident  that 
they  were  a  band  of  horse  thieves. 

"  'Where  are  you  going,  young  man,  and  who's 
with  you?'  asked  one  of  the  men,  who  appeared  to 
be  the  leader  of  the  gang. 


84  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

"  'I  am  entirely  alone.  I  left  Horseshoe  Station 
this  morning  for  a  bear  hunt,  and  not  finding  any 
bears  I  had  determined  to  camp  out  for  the  night 
and  wait  till  morning,'  said  I;  'and  just  as  I  was 
going  into  camp  a  few  hundred  yards  down  the 
creek,  I  heard  one  of  your  horses  whinnying,  and 
then  I  came  to  your  camp.' 

"I  thus  was  explicit  in  my  statement,  in  order,  if 
possible,  to  satisfy  the  cut-throats  that  I  was  not 
spying  upon  them,  but  that  my  intrusion  was  en- 
tirely accidental. 

"'Where's  your  horse?'  demanded  the  boss  thief. 

"  'I  left  him  down  the  creek,'  I  answered. 

"They  proposed  going  after  the  horse,  but  I 
thought  that  would  never  do,  as  it  would  leave  me 
without  any  means  of  escape,  and  I  accordingly 
said,  in  hopes  to  throw  them  off  the  track,  'Captain, 
I'll  leave  my  gun  here  and  go  down  and  get  my 
horse,  and  come  back  and  stay  all  night.' 

"I  said  this  in  as  cheerful  and  as  careless  a  man- 
ner as  possible,  so  as  not  to  arouse  their  suspicions 
in  any  way  or  lead  them  to  think  that  I  was  aware 
of  their  true  character.  I  hated  to  part  with  my 
gun,  but  my  suggestion  of  leaving  it  was  a  part  of 
the  plan  of  escape  which  I  had  arranged.  If  they 
have  the  gun,  thought  I,  they  will  surely  believe  that 
I  intend  to  come  back.  But  this  little  game  did  not 
work  at  all,  as  one  of  the  desperadoes  spoke  up  and 
said: 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  85 

"  'Jim  and  I  will  go  down  with  you  after  your 
horse,  and  you  can  leave  your  gun  here  all  the  same, 
as  you'll  not  need  it/ 

"  'All  right,'  I  replied,  for  I  could  certainly  have 
done  nothing  else.  It  became  evident  to  me  that  it 
would  be  better  to  trust  myself  with  two  men  than 
with  the  whole  party.  It  was  apparent  from  this 
time  on  I  would  have  to  be  on  the  alert  for  some 
good  opportunity  to  give  them  the  slip. 

"  'Come  along,'  said  one  of  them,  and  together 
we  went  down  the  creek,  and  soon  came  to  the  spot 
where  my  horse  was  tied.  One  of  the  men  unhitched 
the  animal,  and  said,  'I'll  lead  the  horse.' 

"  'Very  well,'  said  I,  'I've  got  a  couple  of  sage 
hens  here;  lead  on.' 

"I  picked  up  the  sage  hens  which  I  had  killed 
a  few  hours  before,  and  followed  the  man  who  was 
leading  the  horse,  while  his  companion  brought  up 
the  rear.  The  nearer  we  approached  the  dug-out, 
the  more  I  dreaded  the  idea  of  going  back  among 
the  villainous  cut-throats.  My  first  plan  of  escape 
having  failed,  I  now  determined  upon  another.  I 
had  both  of  my  revolvers  with  me,  the  thieves  not 
having  thought  it  necessary  to  search  me.  It  was 
now  quite  dark,  and  I  purposely  dropped  one  of 
the  sage  hens,  and  asked  the  man  behind  me  to  pick 
it  up.  While  he  was  hunting  for  it  on  the  ground, 
I  quickly  pulled  out  one  of  my  Colt's  revolvers  and 
struck  him  a  tremendous  blow  on  the  back  of  the 


86  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

head,  knocking  him  senseless  to  the  ground.  I  then 
instantly  wheeled  around  and  saw  that  the  man 
ahead,  who  was  only  a  few  feet  distant,  had  heard 
the  blow  and  turned  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  his 
hand  upon  his  revolver.  We  faced  each  other  at 
about  the  same  instant,  but  before  he  could  fire,  as 
he  tried  to  do,  I  shot  him  dead  in  his  tracks.  Then 
jumping  on  my  horse,  I  rode  down  the  creek  as 
fast  as  possible,  through  the  darkness  and  over  the 
rough  ground  and  rocks. 

"The  other  outlaws  in  the  dug-out  having  heard 
the  shot  which  I  had  fired,  knew  there  was  trouble, 
and  they  all  came  rushing  down  the  creek.  I  sup- 
pose by  the  time  they  reached  the  man  whom  I  had 
knocked  down,  that  he  had  recovered  and  hurriedly 
told  them  of  what  had  happened.  They  did  not 
stay  with  the  man  whom  I  had  shot,  but  came  on 
in  hot  pursuit  of  me.  They  were  not  mounted,  and 
were  making  better  time  down  the  rough  mountain 
than  I  was  on  horseback.  From  time  to  time  I 
heard  them  gradually  gaining  on  me. 

"At  last  they  came  so  near  that  I  saw  that  I 
must  abandon  my  horse.  So  I  jumped  to  the 
ground  and  gave  him  a  hard  slap  with  the  butt  of 
one  of  my  revolvers  which  started  him  on  down  the 
valley,  while  I  scrambled  up  the  mountain  side.  I 
had  not  ascended  more  than  forty  feet  when  I  heard 
my  pursuers  coming  closer  and  closer;  I  quickly  hid 
behind  a  large  pine  tree,  and  in  a  few  moments  they 
all  rushed  by  me,  being  led  on  by  the  rattling  foot- 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  87 

steps  of  my  horse,  which  they  heard  ahead  of  them. 
Soon  they  began  firing  in  the  direction  of  the  horse, 
as  they  no  doubt  supposed  I  was  still  seated  on  his 
back.  As  soon  as  they  had  passed  me  I  climbed 
further  up  the  steep  mountain,  and  knowing  that 
I  had  given  them  the  slip,  and  feeling  certain  I 
could  keep  out  of  their  way,  I  at  once  struck  out 
for  Horseshoe  Station,  which  was  twenty-five  miles 
distant.  I  had  very  hard  traveling  at  first,  but  upon 
reaching  lower  and  better  ground  I  made  good  head- 
way, walking  all  night  and  getting  into  the  station 
just  before  daylight  —  footsore,  weary,  and  gen- 
erally played  out. 

"I  immediately  woke  up  the  men  of  the  station 
and  told  them  of  my  adventure.  Slade  himself  hap- 
pened to  be  there,  and  he  at  once  organized  a  party 
to  go  out  in  pursuit  of  the  horse  thieves.  Shortly 
after  daylight  twenty  well-armed  stage  drivers,  stock 
tenders  and  ranchmen  were  galloping  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  dug-out.  Of  course,  I  went  along  with 
the  party,  notwithstanding  that  I  was  very  tired 
and  had  hardly  time  for  any  rest  at  all.  We  had  a 
brisk  ride,  and  arrived  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  thieves'  rendezvous  at  about  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  We  approached  the  dug-out  cautiously, 
but  upon  getting  in  close  proximity  to  it  we  could 
discover  no  horses  in  sight.  We  could  see  the  door 
of  the  dug-out  standing  wide  open,  and  we  marched 
up  to  the  place.  No  one  was  inside,  and  the  gen- 
eral  appearance   of   everything   indicated   that   the 


88  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

place  had  been  deserted  —  that  the  birds  had  flown. 
Such,  indeed,  proved  to  be  the  case. 

"We  found  a  newly-made  grave,  where  they  had 
evidently  buried  the  man  whom  I  had  shot.  We 
made  a  thorough  search  of  the  whole  vicinity,  and 
finally  found  their  trail  going  southeast  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Denver.  As  it  would  have  been  useless  to 
follow  them,  we  rode  back  to  the  station,  and  thus 
ended  my  eventful  bear  hunt.  We  had  no  trouble 
for  some  time  after  that." 

A  friend,  who  was  once  a  station  agent,  tells  two 
more  adventures  of  Cody's :  "It  had  become  known 
in  some  mysterious  manner,  past  finding  out,  that 
there  was  to  be  a  large  sum  of  money  sent  through 
by  Pony  Express,  and  that  was  what  the  road 
agents  were  after. 

"After  killing  the  other  rider,  and  failing  to  get 
the  treasure,  Cody  very  naturally  thought  that  they 
would  make  another  effort  to  secure  it;  so  when  he 
reached  the  next  relay  station,  he  walked  about  a 
while  longer  than  was  his  wont. 

"This  was  to  perfect  a  little  plan  he  had  decided 
upon,  which  was  to  take  a  second  pair  of  saddle 
pouches  and  put  something  in  them  and  leave  them 
in  sight,  while  those  that  held  the  valuable  express 
packages  he  folded  up  in  his  saddle  blanket  in  such 
a  way  that  they  could  not  be  seen  unless  a  search 
was  made  for  them.  The  truth  was  that  Cody  knew 
he  carried  the  valuable  package,  and  it  was  his  duty 
to  protect  it  with  his  life. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  89 

"So  with  the  clever  scheme  to  outwit  the  road 
agents,  if  held  up,  he  started  once  more  upon  his 
flying  trip.  He  carried  his  revolver  ready  for  in- 
stant use  and  flew  along  the  trail  with  every  nerve 
strung  to  meet  any  danger  which  might  confront 
him.  He  had  an  idea  where  he  would  be  halted,  if 
halted  at  all,  and  it  was  a  lonesome  spot  in  a  valley, 
the  very  place  for  a  deed  of  crime. 

"As  he  drew  near  the  spot  he  was  on  the  alert, 
and  yet  when  two  men  suddenly  stepped  out  from 
among  the  shrubs  and  confronted  him,  it  gave  him 
a  start  in  spite  of  his  nerve.  They  had  him  cov- 
ered with  rifles  and  brought  him  to  a  halt  with  the 
words:  'Hold!  Hands  up,  Pony  Express  Bill,  for 
we  knew  yer,  my  boy,  and  what  yer  carry.' 

"  'I  carry  the  express ;  and  it's  hanging  for  you 
two  if  you  interfere  with  me,'  was  the  plucky  re- 
sponse. 

"  'Ah,  we  don't  want  you,  Billy,  unless  you  force 
us  to  call  in  your  checks,  but  it's  what  you  carry  we 
want.' 

'  'It  won't  do  you  any  good  to  get  the  pouch, 
for  there  isn't  anything  valuable  in  it.' 

"  'We  are  to  be  the  judges  of  that,  so  throw  us 
the  valuables  or  catch  a  bullet.  Which  shall  it  be, 
Billy?' 

"The  two  men  stood  directly  in  front  of  the  pony 
rider,  each  one  covering  him  with  a  rifle,  and  to 
resist  was  certain  death.     So  Cody  began  to  un- 


90  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

fasten  his  pouches  slowly,  while  he  said,  'Mark  my 
words,  men,  you'll  hang  for  this.' 

"  'We'll  take  chances  on  that,  Bill.' 

"The  pouches  being  unfastened  now,  Cody  raised 
them  with  one  hand,  while  he  said  in  an  angry  tone, 
'If  you  will  have  them,  take  them.'  With  this  he 
hurled  the  pouches  at  the  head  of  one  of  them,  who 
quickly  dodged  and  turned  to  pick  them  up,  just  as 
Cody  fired  upon  the  other  with  his  revolver  in  his 
left  hand. 

"The  bullet  shattered  the  man's  arm,  while,  driv- 
ing the  spurs  into  the  flanks  of  his  mare,  Cody  rode 
directly  over  the  man  who  was  stooping  to  pick  up 
the  pouches,  his  back  turned  to  the  pony  rider. 

"The  horse  struck  him  a  hard  blow  that  knocked 
him  down,  while  he  half  fell  on  top  of  him,  but 
was  recovered  by  a  touch  of  the  spurs  and  bounded 
on,  while  the  daring  pony  rider  gave  a  wild  tri- 
umphant yell  as  he  sped  on  like  the  wind. 

"The  fallen  man,  though  hurt,  scrambled  to  his 
feet  as  soon  as  he  could,  picked  up  his  rifle  and  fired 
after  the  retreating  youth,  but  without  effect,  and 
young  Cody  rode  on,  arriving  at  the  station  on  time, 
and  reported  what  had  happened. 

"He  had,  however,  no  time  to  rest,  for  he  was 
compelled  to  ride  on  to  the  next  station  with  the 
pouches.  He  thus  made  the  remarkable  ride  of  324 
miles  without  sleep,  and  stopping  only  to  eat  his 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  91 

meals,  and  resting  only  then  but  a  few  moments. 
For  saving  the  express  pouches  he  was  highly  com- 
plimented by  all,  and  years  afterward  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  his  prophecy  regarding  the  two 
road  agents  verified,  for  they  were  both  captured 
and  hanged  by  the  vigilantes  for  their  many  crimes." 

"  'There's  Injun  signs  about,  so  keep  your  eyes 
open.'  So  said  the  station  boss  of  the  Pony  Ex- 
press, addressing  young  Cody,  who  had  dashed  up 
to  the  cabin,  his  horse  panting  like  a  hound,  and  the 
rider  ready  for  the  fifteen-mile  flight  to  the  next 
relay.  Til  be  on  the  watch,  boss,  you  bet,'  said 
the  pony  rider,  and  with  a  yell  to  his  fresh  pony 
he  was  off  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow. 

"Down  the  trail  ran  the  fleet  pony  like  the  wind, 
leaving  the  station  quickly  out  of  sight,  and  dash- 
ing at  once  into  the  solitude  and  dangers  of  the  vast 
wilderness.  Mountains  were  upon  either  side,  tow- 
ering cliffs  here  and  there  overhung  the  trail,  and 
the  wind  sighed  through  the  forest  of  pines  like  the 
mourning  of  departed  spirits.  Gazing  ahead,  the 
piercing  eyes  of  the  young  rider  saw  every  tree, 
bush,  and  rock,  for  he  knew  but  too  well  that  a 
deadly  foe,  lurking  in  ambush,  might  send  an  arrow 
or  a  bullet  to  his  heart  at  any  moment.  Gradually 
far  down  the  valley,  his  quick  glance  fell  upon  a 
dark  object  above  the  boulder  directly  in  his  trail. 

"He  saw  the  object  move  and  disappear  from 
sight  down  behind  the  rock.  Without  appearing  to 
notice  it,  or  checking  his  speed  in  the  slightest,  he 


92  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

held  steadily  upon  his  way.  But  he  took  in  the 
situation  at  a  glance  and  saw  that  on  one  side  was 
a  fringe  of  heavy  timber,  upon  the  other  a  precipice, 
at  the  base  of  which  were  massive  rocks. 

"  'There  is  an  Indian  behind  that  rock,  for  I  saw 
his  head,'  muttered  the  young  rider,  as  his  horse 
flew  on.  Did  he  intend  to  take  his  chances  and 
dash  along  the  trail  directly  by  his  ambushed  foe? 
It  would  seem  so,  for  he  still  stuck  to  the  trail. 

"A  moment  more  and  he  would  be  within  range 
of  a  bullet,  when  suddenly  dashing  his  spurs  into 
the  pony's  side,  Billy  Cody  wheeled  to  the  right, 
and  in  an  oblique  course  headed  for  the  cliff.  This 
proved  to  the  foe  in  ambush  that  he  was  suspected, 
if  not  known,  and  at  once  there  came  the  crack  of 
a  rifle,  the  puff  of  smoke!  rising  above  the  rock 
where  he  was  concealed.  At  the  same  moment  a 
yell  went  up  from  a  score  of  throats,  and  out  of  the 
timber  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley  darted  a 
number  of  Indians,  and  these  rode  to  head  off  the 
rider. 

"Did  he  turn  back  and  seek  safety  in  a  retreat 
to  the  station?  No!  he  was  made  of  sterner  stuff 
and  would  run  the  gauntlet. 

"Out  from  behind  the  boulder,  where  they  had 
been  lying  in  ambush,  sprang  two  braves  in  all  the 
glory  of  their  war  paint.  Their  horses  were  in  the 
timber  with  their  comrades,  and,  having  failed  to 
get  a  close  shot  at  the  pony  rider,  the  bullets  pat- 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  98 

tered  under  the  hoofs  of  the  flying  pony,  but  he 
was  unhurt,  and  his  rider  pressed  him  to  his  full 
speed. 

"With  set  teeth,  flashing  eyes,  and  determined  to 
do  or  die,  Will  Cody  rode  on  in  the  race  for  life, 
the  Indians  on  foot  running  swiftly  toward  him,  and 
the  mounted  braves  sweeping  down  the  valley  at 
full  speed. 

"The  shots  of  the  dismounted  Indians  failing  to 
bring  down  the  flying  pony  or  their  human  game, 
the  mounted  redskins  saw  that  their  only  chance 
was  to  overtake  their  prey  by  their  speed.  One  of 
the  number  whose  war  bonnet  showed  that  he  was 
a  chief,  rode  a  horse  that  was  much  faster  than  the 
others,  and  he  drew  quickly  ahead.  Below,  the  val- 
ley narrowed  to  a  pass  not  a  hundred  yards  in 
width,  and  if  the  pony  rider  could  get  to  this  wall 
ahead  of  his  pursuers,  he  would  be  able  to  hold  his 
own  along  the  trail  in  the  ten-mile  run  to  the  next 
relay  station. 

"But,  though  he  saw  that  there  was  no  more  to 
fear  from  the  two  dismounted  redskins,  and  that 
he  would  come  out  well  in  advance  of  the  band  on 
horseback,  there  was  one  who  was  most  dangerous. 
That  one  was  the  chief,  whose  fleet  horse  was  bring- 
ing him  on  at  a  terrible  pace,  and  threatening  to 
reach  there  at  the  same  time  with  the  pony  rider. 

"Nearer  and  nearer  the  two  drew  toward  the  path, 
the  horse  of  Cody  slightly  ahead,  and  the  young 


94  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

rider  knew  that  a  death  struggle  was  at  hand.  He 
did  not  check  his  horse,  but  kept  his  eyes  alternately 
upon  the  pass  and  the  chief.  The  other  Indians  he 
did  not  then  take  into  consideration.  At  length  that 
happened  for  which  he  had  been  looking. 

"When  the  chief  saw  that  he  would  come  out  of 
the  race  some  thirty  yards  behind  his  foe,  he  seized 
his  bow  and  quick  as  a  flash  had  fitted  an  arrow  for 
its  deadly  flight.  But  in  that  instant  Cody  had  also 
acted,  and  a  revolver  had  sprung  from  his  belt  and 
a  report  followed  the  touching  of  the  trigger.  A 
wild  yell  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  chief,  and  he 
clutched  madly  at  the  air,  reeled,  and  fell  from  his 
saddle  rolling  over  like  a  ball  as  he  struck  the 
ground. 

"The  death  cry  of  the  chief  was  echoed  by  the 
braves  coming  on  down  the  valley,  and  a  shower  of 
arrows  was  sent  after  the  fugitive  pony  rider.  An 
arrow  slightly  wounded  the  horse,  but  the  others 
did  no  damage,  and  in  another  second  Cody  had 
dashed  into  the  pass  well  ahead  of  his  foes.  It  was 
a  hot  chase  from  then  on  until  the  pony  rider  came 
within  sight  of  the  next  station,  when  the  Indians 
drew  off  and  Cody  dashed  in  on  time,  and  in  an- 
other minute  was  away  on  his  next  run." 

On  one  of  Cody's  rides  he  was  halted  in  the  canon 

one  day  by  an  outlaw  named ,  who  said  to 

him: 

"You  are  a  mighty  little  feller  to  be  takin'  such 
chances  as  this." 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  95 

"I'm  as  big  as  any  other  feller,"  said  Cody. 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?"  the  highwayman 
asked. 

"Well,  you  see,  Colonel  Colt  has  done  it,"  the 
youngster  replied,  presenting  at  the  same  time  a 
man's  size  revolver  of  the  pattern  that  was  so  prev- 
alent and  useful  among  the  men  of  the  frontier. 
"And  I  can  shoot  as  hard  as  if  I  was  Gin-ral  Jack- 
son," he  added. 

"I  'spect  you  kin  an'  I  reckon  you  would,"  was 
the  laconic  response  of  the  lone  highwayman,  as 
with  a  chuckle  he  turned  up  a  small  canon  toward 
the  north.  Cody  flew  on  as  if  he  were  going  for 
the  doctor.  The  man  escaped  the  law,  reformed, 
and  became  a  respectable  citizen-farmer  in  Kansas, 
and  in  1871  told  this  writer,  in  St.  Joseph,  Missouri, 
of  the  incident  as  here  related. 

Therefore,  his  name  is  omitted. 

Of  all  the  Pony  Express  riders,  Cody  has  become 
the  best  known.  His  rank  as  colonel  belongs  to  him 
by  commission.  Indeed,  he  has  become  commis- 
sioned as  brigadier-general;  he  has  also  been  a  jus- 
tice of  the  peace  to  Nebraska,  and  was  once  a  mem- 
ber of  the  legislature,  which  entitles  him  to  the 
"Hon."  that  is  sometimes  attached  to  his  name.  But 
he  only  cares  to  be  a  colonel  on  the  principle,  per- 
haps, of  the  Kentuckian  who,  being  addressed  as 
"General,"  refused  the  title  on  the  ground  that  there 
is  no  rank  in  Kentucky  higher  than  colonel.     But 


96 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


of  all  his  titles,  Cody  preferred  that  of  "Buffalo 
Bill,"  by  which  he  is  known  throughout  the  world, 
which  he  obtained  while  filling  a  contract  on  the 
plains  in  furnishing  buffalo  meat  to  feed  the  work- 
men of  General  Jack  Casement  and  brother,  con- 
tractors in  the  building  of  the  Union  Pacific  Rail- 
road. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Twentieth  "Pow-Wow" 

THOSE  WATERMELONS 

IF  you  look  back  in  your  life  you  can  remember 
some  old  grouch  that  you'd  like  to  get  even  with. 
One  of  this  kind  crossed  the  path  of  "the  Clan."  He 
made  it  uncomfortable  for  us  whenever  we  went 
near  his  farm  in  melon  time.  In  fact  several  of  the 
boys  know  how  a  dose  of  bird-shot  feels,  and  more 
than  one  took  his  meals  standing  because  of  John 
Duke  and  his  bird-shot. 

This  old  grouch  was  in  town  one  day  with  a  big 
load  of  watermelons,  taking  them  to  Fort  Leaven- 
worth, three  miles  above,  to  sell  to  the  soldiers. 

Of  course,  as  boys  will,  we  gathered  around  the 
wagon  when  he  stopped  in  front  of  Hastings'  store, 
and  one  of  the  boys  felt  the  sting  of  his  whip  as  he 
climbed  on  the  wagon  wheel. 

Billy  noticed  that  the  end-gate  was  secured  by  a 
piece  of  clothesline,  and  not  the  customary  iron  rod. 
He  also  knew  that  Duke  would  have  to  drive  up  a 
steep  hill  to  get  to  Fort  Leavenworth.     Using  his 

97 


98  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Barlow  knife  for  a  bow,  and  the  rope  for  a  fiddle 
string,  Billy  stood  there  innocently  watching  the  old 
grouch  sell  melons.  When  he  was  ready  to  go  Billy's 
tune  was  ended,  and  but  a  few  strands  remained  of 
the  improvised  fiddle  string.  Not  a  word  was  said 
among  the  boys,  but  intuitively  we  followed,  at  a  safe 
distance,  the  load  of  melons.  The  hill  was  reached 
and  the  splendid  team  lay  to  their  collars  as  they 
started  up  the  incline.  The  rope  held  well  but  when 
half  way  up  the  hill  it  became  divorced  and  such  an 
avalanche  of  melons  I  never  saw  before  or  since.  It 
was  not  a  landslide,  it  was  a  melon  roll,  a  squash, 
a  crack,  and  the  juicy  cores  lay  temptingly  red  on 
the  road.  We  were  not  in  sight,  but  if  John  Duke 
had  taken  a  skirmish  in  the  deep  hazel  brush  on 
either  side  of  the  road  there  would  have  been  some 
tall  running.  As  it  was  he  only  looked  at  the  raveled 
rope  and  said  things.  There  were  about  twenty  or 
thirty  melons  left  in  the  big  wagon  bed  so  he  patched 
up  his  end-gate  and  went  on  to  the  fort.  And  then 
those  harpies!  How,  like  birds  of  prey  over  the  car- 
cass of  a  buffalo,  they  did  descend  on  that  fruit!  We 
ate  till  we  could  eat  no  more,  and  though  there  was 
enough  and  to  spare,  we  could  only  look  with  long- 
ing eyes  and  leave  it.  But  that  is  just  the  boy  of  it. 
Boys  of  to-day  will  do  the  same  thing,  just  so  long 
as  there  are  surly,  grouchy  men  to  get  even  with. 

And  honest,  I  think  Buffalo  Bill  hates  an  over- 
bearing grouch  to-day  as  much  as  Billy  did  then. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  99 

Twenty-first  "Pow-WowJJ 

BUFFALO  BILL  AS  SANTA  CLAUS 

IT  was  a  bitter  cold  winter  in  the  mining  camp. 
The  wind  whistled  down  the  gulches  over  the 
foothills,  bending  the  trees  like  so  many  willow 
switches.  Sleet,  too,  took  a  hand  in  the  weird 
chorus  and  the  stoves  and  fireplaces  in  the  saloons, 
gambling  houses  and  dance  halls  sent  out  a  glow 
inviting  the  outdoor  sojourner  to  forsake  his  shack 
or  dug-out  and  mingle  with  the  gay  company,  car- 
ing not  and  not  knowing  who  or  what  they  were. 
Out  there  it  was  considered  a  breach  of  camp  eti- 
quette to  inquire  of  a  man's  past,  or  ask  why  he 
left  the  states.  I  question  if  half  t  the  names  we 
knew  really  belonged  to  the  men  who  wore  them. 
True,  there  were  men  out  there  who,  through  the 
alluring  stories  of  gold  which  drifted  back  east,  and 
lost  none  in  the  telling,  were  there  to  get  rich,  hav- 
ing in  mind  the  young  wife  and  little  ones  "back 
there." 

The  adventurer,  too,  was  there,  and  the  profes- 
sional gambler,  at  whose  tables  gathered  the  men 
of  the  camp  to  take  chances  on  doubling  their  dust 
or  going  broke.  It  mattered  not ;  it  was  excitement 
they  were  buying,  and  though  small  fortunes  in  real 
gold  changed  hands  daily,  there  was  never  a  whim- 
per. True  it  is,  however,  that  once  in  a  while  a 
pistol  shot  rang  out,  bearing  notice  that  someone 
had  been  caught  cheating. 


100  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Those  wildwood  courts  of  justice  acted  quickly. 
A  man  was  found  cheating  at  cards,  was  tried,  con- 
victed and  executed  in  less  time  than  the  second 
hand  of  your  watch  could  hurry  around  its  circle. 

It  is  not  fair  to  pick  out  the  executioner  and  label 
him  a  gunman,  for  all  were  gunmen,  and  as  a  rule 
very  sudden  shots,  for  to  reach  for  a  pistol  meant 
one  or  two  shots  —  never  more,  for  but  one  would 
be  left  to  fire  the  third  shot. 

Now  get  me  right.  Don't,  please  don't,  gather 
from  this  that  the  camp  was  made  up  of  murderers 
and  desperadoes;  far  from  it,  for  some  of  the  very 
men  I  met  in  these  gambling  houses  later  became 
the  best  citizens  of  the  country.  One  became  a 
judge  of  the  Colorado  Supreme  Court,  another  a 
prosperous  merchant  in  Denver,  still  another  a 
freighter,  another  a  farmer  whose  thousands  of 
acres  in  Minnesota  gave  him  a  name  second  only 
to  the  wheat  king.  Another  became  a  show  man 
whose  name  is  known  world  wide.  Others  I  can- 
not recall.  However,  that  was  the  makeup  of  the 
crowd  which  gathered  in  the  warm  saloon  one  Christ- 
mas eve. 

It  was  with  regret  that  Buffalo  Bill  left  the 
circle  on  an  errand  that  could  not  be  denied.  As  a 
government  scout,  he  was  on  the  trail  of  a  band  of 
outlaws,  and  now  he  set  out,  hoping  to  locate  them 
by  their  campfire. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  101 

Over  the  rise,  down  the  swale,  up  the  side  of 
the  hill,  he  came  upon  a  point  where,  glimmering 
through  the  trees,  he  saw  a  light. 

Confident  that  his  search  was  at  an  end,  he 
hastened  toward  it,  the  whir  of  the  wind  drowning 
all  sounds  and  making  caution  unnecessary.  He 
knew  he  had  found  them.  He  knew  he  was  equal 
to  them,  for  his  rifle  was  ready,  besides  a  brace  of 
pistols,  one  of  which  is  now  in  my  possession,  and 
all  were  loaded. 

Closer  he  drew  to  the  light.  And  as  he  neared 
the  window  through  which  the  light  shone,  he  heard 
children's  voices. 

He  had  happened  upon  the  cabim  of  the  Widow 
Murphy,  whose  husband  had  been  killed  by  the 
explosion  of  his  gun  a  few  months  before.  The 
voices  he  heard  were  those  of  little  Jimmie  and 
Maggie,  her  two  children. 

Mrs.  Murphy  was  not  cultured  as  we  take 
it.  Her  language,  was  coarse  —  not  vulgar  —  just 
rough,  and  regardless  of  grammar.  Her  voice  was 
harsh  and  rasping,  but  she  was  a  woman  —  a  real 
western  woman  —  one  of  those  who  travel  side  by 
side  with  their  pioneer  husband. 

And  further,  she  was  a  mother. 

She  worked  hard  at  washing  and  mending  for 
the  miners,  that  her  little  ones  might  be  protected 
from  the  bitter  cold  and  have  enough  to  eat. 


102  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

It  was  a  hard  winter,  and  the  roughly  built 
shack  could  illy  cope  with  the  bitter  winds. 

Mrs.  Murphy  was  a  Christian  mother,  and  in 
spite  of  the  hardships  of  the  frontier,  never  once 
slackened  in  her  faith  in  the  All-Father.  Through 
her  Christian  fortitude  she  could  say,  "Thy  will  be 
done."    She  had  taught  her  children  to  pray. 

Drawing  closer  to  the  window,  the  scout  heard 
this: 

"Now  go  to  bed,  my  darlings.  It  is  cold  up 
here,  but  we'll  trust  in  God,  for  remember  He  is 
everywhere.  He  is  with  us  here,  just  the  same  as 
He  was  back  in  the  states." 

"Tomorrow's  Christmas,"  said  the  little  boy.  "Will 
Santa  Claus  come  like  he  used  to  in  the  states? 
Let's  hang  up  our  stockings.     Maybe  God  will  tell 
him  about  us." 

And  the  little  tots  hung  up  their  stockings. 

Then  they  knelt  down  and  said  their  prayers,  ask- 
ing God  to  send  Santa  Claus  and  telling  him  what 
they  wanted,  remembering  to  ask  for  a  shawl  for 
mother,  and  other  things  for  her  comfort. 

All  this  Buffalo  Bill  heard,  and  it  was  with  swell- 
ing heart  that  he  turned  away,  fully  resolved  that 
it  was  the  will  of  the  All-Father  that  he  should  be  the 
Santa  Claus  to  answer  the  prayers  of  the  little  ones. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  103 

He  knew  where  he  would  find  a  ready  response 
and  hastened  first  to  the  gambling  house  of  Ed. 
McClintock,  where  he  told  the  story  of  the  little 
ones,  just  as  he  saw  it,  and  swinging  off  his  som- 
brero, chipped  in  a  bunch  of  gold,  and  led  off  by 
passing  the  hat. 

The  poker  tables  bore  rich  fruit — coin,  nuggets, 
dust  and  chips. 

Some  of  the  men,  as  I  said  before,  had  wives  and 
children  back  in  the  states,  and  many  a  tear  rolled 
down  the  faces  of  the  hardy  miners,  who,  unashamed 
of  this  weakness,  joined  the  impromptu  celebration 
and  felt  it  a  privilege  to  chip  in.  And  it  wTas  none 
of  your  penny  contributions,  you  bet.  It  was  gold, 
and  yet  more  gold,  and  if  the  truth  were  known, 
many  a  fervent  prayer,  unspoken  of  course,  accom- 
panied the  hand  to  the  hat. 

From  out  of  that  den  to  another  still  they  went. 
The  game  was  broken  up,  and  all  joined  the  pro- 
cession as  from  one  saloon  to  another  they  went,  to 
this  and  that  gambling  house,  until,  that  Christmas 
eve,  in  that  mining  camp,  not  a  card  was  played. 

The  roulette  wheel  stood  still  on  the  last  winning 
color. 

It  was  Christmas  eve,  and  the  prayer  of  a  child 
had  done  more  to  close  the  gambling  dens  than  a 
sheriff  with  a  posse  could  have  done,  or  a  preacher 
could  have  accomplished  by  his  most  eloquent  appeal. 


104  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

It  was  the  spirit  of  the  Christ  child  invoked  by 
the  little  tot  "away  out  there." 

The  crowd  went  en  masse  to  Mat  Malone's  gen- 
eral store,  having  picked  him  up  at  Mason's,  and 
made  him  open  up  for  business. 

It  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  see  that 
crowd  making  their  Christmas  purchases.  True  it 
is,  they  did  not  do  their  Christmas  shopping  early, 
as  days  go.  But  ere  they  had  finished,  it  was  about 
two  o'clock  Christmas  morning.  Several  large  bun- 
dles were  made  up,  each  wrapped,  or  rather  dumped, 
in  a  blanket. 

It  was  a  strange  procession  which,  led  by  Cody, 
traversed  the  snow-covered  hills,  through  the  gulches, 
up  the  banks,  through  the  wooded  section  to  the 
little  shack. 

Carefully  and  quietly  each  miner  deposited  his 
load,  easing  it  gently  against  the  door,  until  it 
reached  up  far  above  the  latch.  Surmounting  the 
whole  was  a  sack  of  gold  —  dust,  nuggets  and  coin. 

To  the  same  sack  they  tied  a  note  telling  the  story 
of  the  childish  prayer,  and  adding: 

"Accept  this  Christmas  gift.  It  was  sent  by  the 
Christ  who  heard  your  children's  prayer. 

"Santa  Claus." 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  105 

Buffalo  Bill  volunteered  to  stand  guard  till  day- 
break, and  the  door  was  opened.  Ed  McClintock 
and  I  stayed  with  him. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  saw  the  first  plume  of 
blue  smoke  and  we  knew  the  widow  was  up  building 
a  fire. 

It  was  but  a  few  moments  before  she  opened  the 
door  and  the  avalanche  of  Christmas  came  tumbling 
in  upon  her. 

We  were  too  far  away  to  hear  what  she  said,  but 
mighty  quickly  the  little  ones  were  jumping  up  and 
down  around  the  big  pile  of  stuff.  We  could  hear 
their  glad  shouts,  but  could  not  get  the  words. 

However,  we  saw  Mrs.  Murphy  gather  her  chil- 
dren, and  saw  them  all  kneel,  undoubtedly  in  thanks- 
giving. 

"God  bless  you,  little  cubs,"  said  Bill,  as  we  quiet- 
ly stole  away. 

I  have  entirely  lost  track  of  Mrs.  Murphy,  but  I'll 
bet  a  dollar  that  if  she  is  still  alive,  $100  wouldn't 
buy  the  scrap  of  wrapping  paper  we  tied  to  the 
sack. 

Honestly,  fellows,  I  believe  that  the  Lord  used  us 
to  answer  that  kid's  prayer.  And  that's  some  good 
we  were  in  the  world. 


106  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

BUFFALO   BILL   AS   SANTA    CLAUS 

(in  verse) 

Note:  The  foregoing  story  is  here  given  in  verse.  This 
poem  was  written  for  the  Prince  of  Wales  (the  late  Edward 
VII),  and  presented  by  him  to  his  mother,  Queen  Victoria,  in 
an  elegantly  bound  edition,  hand  illuminated. 


'Twas  Christmas  on  the  border, 

When  the  West  was  wild  and  young, 
Before  the  days  of  railroads, 

When  many  a  horse-thief  swung; 
When  men,  to  seek  their  fortunes, 

Took  their  lives  into  their  hands, 
And  dug  and  washed  for  gold  dust 

In  those  far-off  golden  sands. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  107 


It  was  rough,  I  tell  you,  pardner, 

Out  in  those  mining  camps,  v 
With  only  rough,  big  bearded  men 

Whose  memory  on  me  stamps 
The  fact,  that  'neath  the  woolen  shirt, 

There  beat  big  hearts  and  true, 
As  tender  as  a  woman's, 

And  honest  thru  and  thru. 


108 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


The  games  were  not  as  gentle 

As  tennis  or  croquet, 
'Twas  fashion  to  play  poker  there 

And  bags  of  dust  the  pay. 
A  mile  or  so  from  our  camp, 

A  washerwoman  lived, 
Whose  little  children  ate  and  wore 

From  what  she  earned  and  saved. 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  109 


This  Christmas  eve  I  speak  of 

One  of  the  boys  was  out; 
He  saw  the  washerwoman's  light, 

And  turned,  this  western  scout, 
Straight  for  the  lighted  cabin  — 

For  he  was  looking  'round 
For  a  gang  of  thieves  and  outlaws 

The  cabin's  light  he  found. 


110 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


With  eager  tread  he  hastened, 

"IVe  found  them  in  their  den," 
Thought  he,  "and  now  I'll  listen, 

I  think  I've  got  my  men." 
With  hand  upon  his  pistol 

He  neared  the  cabin  door, 
And  listened  to  the  voices  — 

Then  could  not  wait  for  more. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT 


111 


To  this  the  brave  scout  listened 

Out  on  the  border  wilds: 
"Oh,  ma!  to-morrow's  Christmas!" 

The  sweet  voice  was  a  child's, 
"And  will  the  good  old  Santa  come 

And  bring  us  toys  and  slates, 
And  pretty  dolls  and  candies,  too, 

Like  he  used  to  in  the  States?" 


112 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


"God  grant  he  may,"  she  answered, 

"But  I  am  not  so  sure 
That  Santa  Claus  will  be  so  kind, 

Now  that  we  are  so  poor. 
But  go  to  bed,  my  darlings, 

And  say  your  evening  prayer; 
Remember  God  is  in  the  West 

As  well  as  'way  back  there." 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  118 


The  scout  went  to  the  window 

Through  which  a  bright  light  shone; 
He  saw  her  kiss  the  children, 

"God  bless  you  both,  my  own!" 
"Gol  darned  if  I  can  stand  it"; 

He  wiped  away  a  tear, 
To  which  his  eyes  a  stranger 

Had  been  for  many  a  year. 


114 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


The  little  children  went  to  bed  — 

They  left  the  mother  there, 
And  overcome  with  bitter  grief, 

She  knelt  in  earnest  prayer; 
"Oh,  God!"  she  said,  and  weeping, 

"Remove  this  bitter  cup; 
How  can  I  disappoint  them, 

They've  hung  their  stockings  up. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT 


115 


"I've  not  a  slice  of  bacon 

Or  crust  of  bread  to  eat, 
When  they  awake  for  breakfast, 

Nor  nothing  good  or  sweet; 
Thy  will  be  done,  Oh  Father, 

But  if  it  be  Thy  will, 
Oh,  let  me  get  some  clothes  and  wood 

To  ward  off  cold  and  chill." 


116  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


'Twas  too  much  for  the  hardy  scout  — 

He  turned  to  move  away, 
But  caught  the  children's  voices, 

And,  to  hear  what  they  would  say 
He  neared  their  bedroom  window, 

And  while  he  waited  there 
He  listened  to  the  lisping, 

As  they  raised  their  voice  in  prayer. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT 


117 


"O,  Dod  bless  our  dear  mamma, 

Who  works  so  hard  all  day, 
And  buys  good  things  for  us  to  eat, 

When  the  miners  come  and  pay; 
An'  Dod,  you  know  she  loves  you, 

And  don't  like  folks  what  swears, 
And  makes  her  little  children 

Kneel  down  and  say  deir  prayers. 


118  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


And,  God,  if  'taint  much  trouble, 

I'll  ask  some  more,  because, 
You  see  tomorrow's  Christmas, 

And  please  send  Santa  Claus 
To  put  fings  in  our  stockings  — 

We  hung  'em  up  out  dere  — 
Susie's  by  the  chimney, 

And  mine  is  on  the  chair. 


Now,  Dod,  please  don't  dis'point  us, 

Just  send  whatever  suits; 
Send  sis  a  pair  of  nice  warm  shoes 

And  me  a  pair  of  boots. 
And,  Dod,  please  send  a  blanket  — 

This  cover's  awful  thin, 
And  great  big  holes  all  thru  the  house, 

They  let  the  cold  come  in. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  119 


Now,  Dod,  I'll  say  dood  night  to  you, 

Because  I'se  awful  cold, 
And  if  I  ask  for  too  much  things 

You'll  think  I'se  getting  bold; 
But  if  you  please,  before  you  go, 

I'll  ask  you — -this  is  all  — 
If  it  ain't  too  expensive, 

Please  send  my  ma  a  shawl." 


"You  bet  your  life  He  will,  my  boy," 

The  scout  said,  soft  and  low, 
And  turning  then  with  silent  tread  — 

Back  to  the  camp  did  go. 
"Wake  up,  you  fellers,  one  and  all, 

And  ante  up  with  me  — 
I'll  show  you  how  to  gamble 

In  a  way  you'll  like  to  see." 


120 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


"Now  what's  excited  Buffalo  Bill, 

I  wonder?"  shouted  one. 
"Just  listen,"  said  the  border  scout, 

"While  thru  my  talk  I  run." 
And  then  he  told  the  story  thru  — 

The  facts  set  plain  and  clear; 
And  many  a  rough  old  miner's  hand 

Brushed  from  his  eyes  a  tear. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  121 


"Now,  here's  a  twenty-dollar  piece, 

Who'll  ante  up  with  me, 
To  make  the  little  children 

Go  wild  and  dance  with  glee?" 
The  poker  tables  bore  rich  fruit  — 

The  stacks  of  gold  heaped  high; 
"I'll  go  you  one  and  raise  you  two," 

"I'll  stay  with  you  or  die." 


122 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


Bill  took  his  hat  and  passed  it  'round, 

"Be  lively,  boys,  because 
Before  the  sun  is  up,  you  know, 

We'll  all  be  Santa  Claus." 
The  boys  all  chipped  in  coin  and  dust 

Like  men  who  business  meant, 
And  then  from  out  that  gambling  den 

To  another  one  they  went. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT 


12* 


And  told  the  story  o'er  again  — 

The  same  results  all  'round  — 
And  others  joined  the  merry  throng, 

And  "chink"  the  gold  did  sound. 
They  went  the  rounds  of  all  saloons 

And  gambling  dens  in  camp, 
With  big,  rough,  honest,  manly  hearts 

And  torches  for  a  lamp. 


124  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


It  warn't  no  scrimping  crowd,  you  bet, 

The  money  poured  like  rain; 
The  rough  old  miners  stood  not  back, 

Nor  were  their  efforts  vain. 
The  money  came,  the  men  increased, 

Then  went  they  to  the  store, 
To  buy  the  things  the  children  wished, 

Warm  clothes  and  food  and  more 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT 


195 


Than  had  been  thought  or  asked  for 

By  the  children  while  at  prayer, 
Or  the  mother  in  her  fondest  wish 

For  her  little  darlings  there; 
And  many  a  miner  rough  choked  up, 

At  the  thought  of  cruel  fates, 
For  some  had  wives  and  loved  ones 

Away  back  in  the  States. 


126 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


They  heaped  a  pile  of  everything 

The  border  store  contained, 
For  the  widow  and  her  children, 

Until  nothing  else  remained 
For  them  to  do,  but  get  it  there 

To  the  widow's  lowly  home  — 
Then  was  their  night's  work  finished, 

And  then  abroad  they'd  roam. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT 


127 


There  were  lots  of  us  rough  fellows 

(For  I  was  in  the  crowd), 
And  each  man  gathered  up  a  load, 

Though  no  one  spoke  aloud. 
And  then,  led  on  by  Cody, 

To  the  widow's  lonely  hut, 
Across  the  gulch,  beyond  the  hill, 

We  took  the  shortest  cut. 


128 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


Then  quiet  every  miner 

Deposited  his  load 
Before  the  little  cabin  door, 

Then  gathered  in  the  road; 
And  in  that  pile  was  everything 

The  widow  could  desire: 
And  of  pure  virgin  gold  a  sack 

Still  made  the  pile  raise  higher. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT 


129 


And  to  the  sack  they  tied  a  note 

Which  bade  the  widow  cheer, 
And  said:  "Accept  this  Christmas  gift 

From  One  who's  always  near, 
For  God  has  heard  your  children, 

And  this  is  here  because 
It  was  your  darlings'  earnest  prayer 

And  God  sent  Santa  Claus." 


130 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


"Who'll  stand  guard  till  daybreak?" 

"Buffalo  Bill,"  said  Cy. 
"And  with  his  trusty  rifle 

He'll  guard  the  gift  or  die." 
A  man  all  clad  in  buckskin 

Stepped  out  and  said  "I  will!" 
The  miners  knew  the  gift  was   safe 

The  man  was  Buffalo  Bill. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT 


181 


On  the  bright  Christmas  morning 

She  opened  wide  the  door, 
And  an  avalanche  of  Christmas 

Came  tumbling  on  the  floor. 
The  children  heard  the  rumble 

Of  the  gifts,  and  without  #pause 
They  came  in  from  their  bedroom 

And  shouted  "Santa  Clausl" 


132 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


The  widow  knelt  beside  them, 

Despite  their  childish  pranks; 
With   streaming  eyes   and   fuller  heart 

Returned  to  God  her  thanks. 
And  stealthy  through  the  bushes 

There  moved  off  one  so  still, 
"God  bless  you,  little  cubs,"  said  he, 

Then  vanished  Buffalo  Bill. 


CHAPTER  IX 


Twenty-second  "Pow-Wow" 

BLACK  DEATH 

IT  looked  bad  one  time  on  the  plains  for  any  small 
bodies  of  emigrants  or  "westward  ho"  travelers, 
for  the  Indians  were  either  on  the  warpath,  or  were 
possessed  of  that  nervous,  warlike  feeling  which 
needed  but  a  spark  or  a  temptation  in  the  shape  of 
opportunity  to  make  of  them  fiends  incarnate.  That 
was  the  year  well  remembered  by  many  of  us  whose 
locks  are  gray,  when  cholera  was  committing  ravages 
among  the  red  men. 

Black  death,  they  called  it,  and  all  the  super- 
stitious horror  of  this  unseen  enemy,  which  strikes 
in  the  dark,  seemed  to  overshadow  them. 

On  the  occasion  which  leads  to  this  anecdote,  I 
chanced  to  be  with  Scout  Cody  ahead  of  a  wagon 
train  bound  for  a  government  post  far  out  on  the 
frontier,  with  supplies  —  rations  for  the  soldiers. 

It  was  the  custom  of  Cody,  as  scout,  to  ride  far  in 
advance  of  the  train  in  order  the  better  to  give  them 
time  to  prepare  for  attacks  by  the  Indians,  if  he 
discovered  them,  or  to  select  a  place  to  camp,  if 
possible,  beside  a  water  course  or  water  hole. 

133 


134  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

We  were  well  mounted  and  well  armed,  besides 
being  good  shots.  At  least  the  other  one  was,  and 
of  that  the  world  well  knows. 

We  had  just  turned  the  rise  of  a  hill  or  "divide" 
when  Cody's  long  distance  sight  made  out  a  large 
party  of  Indians,  coming  our  way.  He  turned  back 
to  us  and  said,  "Walt,  ride  like  hell  back  to  the  train 
and  tell  them  to  corral  for  a  fight." 

Walt  turned  his  horse  and  soon  but  a  cloud  of 
dust  told  us  that  he  was  letting  his  noble  mare  hit 
the  prairie  as  fast  as  she  wanted  to,  and  she  was 
some  racer. 

I  asked  Bill:  "Why  not  turn  back  ourselves,  and 
make  for  the  wagon  train?" 

"They've  seen  us,  and  it  would  only  hasten  mat- 
ters if  we  turned  tail.  Better  face  it  out  here  with 
a  pow-wow.  It's  the  only  thing  to  do.  It  will  save 
the  train  — " 

"But,  Bill." 

"Well?" 

And  the  way  he  said  "well"  meant  a  whole  lot. 
It  was  the  ultimatum.  It  sounded  to  me  that  some- 
body had  to  die  to  save  the  train,  and  we  were 
elected. 

Now  if  I  were  to  brace  up  at  this  late  date,  and 
say  that  I  looked  well  after  my  trusty  rifle  and  pre- 
pared for  the  worst,  it  would  be  so  big  a  lie  that  our 
friend  Ananias  would  reach  to  embrace  me.  I  did 
no  such  thing.  I  simply  sat  my  horse  and  shivered. 
I  was  scared  stiff. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  135 

Cody,  however,  shading  his  eye,  watched  the  on- 
coming horde  of  red  devils,  and  bidding  me  sit  my 
horse,  dismounted  and  taking  his  red  blanket  from 
his  saddle  went  out  alone  and  on  foot  to  meet  them. 
With  the  blanket  over  his  arm  he  made  a  sign  to 
them  and  spread  the  blanket  upon  the  prairie  and 
stood  upon  it,  his  long  hair  waving  in  the  wind,  his 
hand  uplifted,  thus  appearing  a  statue  turned  to 
stone  in  the  act  of  command. 

They  approached  him,  and  two  or  three  bucks  and 
the  chief  dismounted  and  came  to  his  blanket.  The 
oncoming  crowd  stopped  and  partly  surrounded  him, 
while  three  others  pressed  on  to  where  I  sat  holding 
the  horses  and  trying  to  say  the  Lord's  prayer  to 
rag-time. 

The  pow-wow  lasted  but  a  short  time,  and  the 
Indians  who  came  to  secure  me,  made  no  move,  save 
to  plant  themselves  on  either  side,  and  one  of  them 
condescended  to  say,  "How." 

"How,"  said  I,  but  that  was  all.  For  the  life  of 
me,  I  couldn't  think  of  a  funny  story  to  tell  them, 
so  I  contented  myself  with  asking  one  of  them  for 
"tobac,"  which  he  reluctantly  gave  me.  I  lighted  my 
pipe,  took  a  puff  and  offered  it  to  him,  but  he  re- 
fused, so  there  was  no  peace  pipe  smoke  in  our  little 
pow-wow. 

Soon,  however,  I  saw  the  pipe  passed  around 
those  who  sat  on  the  blanket  with  Cody,  and  I  knew 
there  was  some  progress  made  by  him.  They  had 
consented  to  "talk"  with  him,  and  shortly  after  he 


186  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

stood  up,  waving  his  arms  to  the  sky,  turning  each 
way,  giving  the  same  heavenward  signals.  It  was 
less  than  ten  minutes  after  his  physical  culture  act 
that  the  entire  band  mounted  and,  turning  from  the 
east,  took  up  their  journey  to  the  southwest,  chant- 
ing the  death  song  of  some  tribe,  or  some  other  hor- 
rible melody. 

My  two  friends,  without  even  a  Mexican  "adios" 
or  Indian  "how"  departed  after  the  moving  band, 
leaving  me  with  a  full  pipe  of  tobacco,  but  with  a 
scare  which  I  am  sure  made  my  red  hair  stick  out 
like  last  fall's  swamp  grass. 

When  Cody  returned  I  asked  him  how  he  did  it. 

"I  threatened  to  call  Black  death  from  the  skies 
of  the  east,  the  west  and  the  north  if  they  did  not 
take  the  trail  I  pointed  out,  and  as  they  suffered  the 
loss  of  several  by  cholera  the  night  before,  I  guess 
they  thought  there  was  something  to  my  incanta- 
tions, for  I  used  the  name  of  the  thunder  god,  and 
every  god  they  feared,  calling  on  the  Great  Spirit  of 
the  Medicine  Man  to  loose  the  Black  death  if  they 
did  not  move,  or  to  grant  them  freedom  from  it  if 
they  went  peacefully  away.  I  simply  had  to  act  like 
a  locoed  idiot  and  lie  like  sin.  It  was  the  only  thing 
to  do,  and  you  see  my  cards  won." 

Many  deaths  occurred  that  summer  among  the 
Indians,  and  the  ravages  of  cholera  served  to  quell 
what  promised  to  be  a  general  uprising. 

Bill  with  big  bluff  accomplished  that  day  what  a 
regiment  of  soldiers  could  not  have  done. 


CHAPTER  X 


Twenty-third  "Pow-Wow" 

THE  NATION'S  GUEST 

WHO  wears  the  spurs  must  win  them.  Thus  it 
was  taught  years  after  I  commenced  my  career 
as  a  bandit  and  stole  a  pair  of  spurs.  And  I  never 
have  developed  into  much  of  a  bandit  at  that. 

Tonight  I  am  sitting  at  my  desk  smoking.  Would 
you  visualize  my  surroundings?  The  walls  of  my 
study  —  no,  that  "study"  sounds  too  much  like  a 
preacher,  or  Prof.  Woodrow  Wilson, — well,  the 
walls  of  my  office,  for  it  is  my  home  —  my  sanctum- 
sanctorum,  and  it  is  here  with  my  pipe  I  dream 
dreams  —  are  hung  with  pictures  of  men  I  have 
learned  to  love.  I  see  the  face  of  my  old  pard,  Buf- 
falo Bill,  and  next  to  him  I  see  Otto  Korn  and  A. 
G.  Smith,  each  flanked  by  John  Q.  JefTeries  and 
Ben  Jacobsen.  Below  these  hangs  a  pair  of  spurs. 
And  thereby  hangs  a  tale. 

These  spurs  I  stole  from  the  boots  of  the  Grand 
Duke  Alexis,  the  heir  prospective  to  the  throne  of 
all  the  Russias. 

Here's  how  it  happened : 

The  Grand  Duke  Alexis  of  Russia  was  the  guest 
of  this  government  and  to  properly  entertain  him  a 

137 


138  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

great  buffalo  hunt  was  proposed.  This  hunt  was 
placed  in  charge  of  the  world's  greatest  buffalo 
hunter,  Buffalo  Bill,  who  at  that  time  was  chief  of 
scouts  of  the  United  States  Army  and  held  that 
position  under  the  government  with  a  colonel's 
commission. 

Where  Bill  Cody  (Buffalo  Bill)  was,  there  was  I, 
and  this  grand  hunt  was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 

Say,  pardner,  did  you  ever  cross  the  plains  in  the 
early  days;  when  the  west  was  wild  and  young; 
when  a  puddle  of  water  in  a  buffalo  hoof  track  was 
a  godsend?  This  question  is  addressed  only  to  real 
men,  the  pioneers,  who,  like  myself,  knew  the  west 
when  the  west  was  young  —  men  only  over  whose 
heads  have  passed  years  three  score  and  ten;  men 
who,  starting  across  the  boundless  prairies,  took  it 
as  a  gamble  whether  they  would  reach  their  destina- 
tion or  meet  St.  Peter  with  an  arrow  through  their 
body  or  a  chunk  of  lead  lodged  somewhere  in  their 
anatomy.  But  I  digress  and  no  wonder  —  the  durn 
pipe  went  out. 

I  was  speaking  of  the  Grand  Duke  Alexis,  the 
buffalo  hunt,  his  spurs.  Well,  the  plains  in  those 
days  did  not  furnish  parlor  cars  and  ice  water  and 
champagne  and  —  but  that's  getting  too  darn  mod- 
ern. As  I  said  before,  it  was  when  the  west  was 
young.  But  on  this  occasion  a  generous  government 
set  out  to  entertain  a  royal  visitor  royally  and  she 
did,  too. 

The  Grand  Duke  Alexis  was  the  guest  of  this 
government,  and  it  was  on  the  program,  it  seems,  to 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  139 

give  him  the  real  thrill  of  a  buffalo  hunt  on  the 
American  plains.  As  a  preliminary  and  to  make  it 
a  success,  General  Sheridan  sent  General  Forsyth 
and  Doctor  Asch  of  his  staff  to  arrange  with  Buf- 
falo Bill  to  take  charge  of  the  expedition  as  chief 
guide  and  demonstrator. 

At  that  time  Spotted  Tail  and  his  Sioux  In- 
dians were  in  that  territory,  by  permission  of  the 
government,  to  hunt  buffalo.  Cody  was  commis- 
sioned by  General  Sheridan  to  visit  Spotted  Tail 
and  induce  him  to  ask  about  a  hundred  of  his  leading 
warriors  and  chiefs  to  visit  the  place  where  the  camp 
would  be  located,  so  that  the  grand  duke  should  see 
a  body  of  American  Indians  and  observe  the  manner 
in  which  they  killed  buffalo.  This  was  all  arranged 
by  Cody,  and  it  was  understood  that  Spotted  Tail 
and  his  warriors  should  visit  the  camp  in  about  "ten 
sleeps." 

By  the  way,  the  next  morning  when  the  warriors 
were  together  many  of  them  recognized  Cody  as 
their  enemy,  "Pa-has-ka,"  meaning  "long  hair,"  as 
they  had  met  him  in  action  when  they  were  driven 
out  of  the  Republican  river  country. 

However,  Spotted  Tail  said,  as  he  handed  his 
peace  pipe  to  Cody,  that  he  wanted  his  people  to  be 
kind  to  him  and  treat  him  as  his  friend.  On  the 
morning  of  January  12,  a  special  train  arrived  at 
North  Platte,  Neb.,  and  was  met  by  Cody,  Captain 
Hayes  and  a  company  of  cavalry  under  Captain 
Eagan  with  six  ambulances  and  about  twenty  saddle 
horses. 


140  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

General  Sheridan  accompanied  the  grand  duke 
and,  with  several  of  his  staff  and  the  suite  of  the 
grand  duke,  we  had  quite  a  party.  A  long  line  of 
government  wagons  was  loaded  with  all  the  deli- 
cacies of  the  four  seasons  in  both  solid  and  liquid 
form.  Every  luxury  which  could  be  transported  on 
wheels  was  there — not  forgetting  Bass  Pale  ale  in 
earthen  bottles,  the  finest  of  liquors  of  all  brands, 
both  rye,  bourbon  and  Scotch,  not  forgetting  old 
Holland  gin  and  —  wipe  off  your  chin,  old  timer, 
—  champagne,  Sauturne  and  corn  down  to  harmless, 
blushing  port.  All  were  there  and  in  a  territory 
where  in  our  own  times,  we  real  Americans  were 
charmed  to  lie  on  our  bellies,  sweep  the  green  scum 
off  the  water  in  a  buffalo  wallow,  and  share  the 
stagnant  water  with  our  mounts.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber, old  timer? 

Well,  that  was  the  kind  of  an  outfit  our  govern- 
ment provided  to  extend  American  courtesies  to  the 
scion  of  foreign  nobility.  The  hunt  was  more  like  a 
pageant  or  a  migratory  circus  of  the  olden  time 
looking  for  a  town  to  show  in.  Of  supply  wagons 
there  was  a  train  —  the  first  train  de  luxe  to  cross 
the  plains.  There  was  a  full  company  of  United 
States  cavalry  to  act  as  escort  and  as  many  mule- 
whackers  and  outriders,  to  say  nothing  of  night 
herders,  camp  cooks  and  an  imported  chef. 

It  was  a  great  game  and  in  this  case  as  much  a 
novelty  to  the  mule-whacker  as  it  was  to  his  royal 
highness,  the  grand  duke.  Speaking  of  the  Grand 
Duke  Alexis,  let  me  say  that  to  the  person  who  has 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  141 

been  used  to  thinking  of  royalty  as  a  person  clad  in 
a  purple  velvet  cloak  lined  and  trimmed  with  ermine, 
wearing  a  spiked  crown  of  solid  gold,  studded  with 
diamonds  and  rubies  and  emeralds  as  big  as  the  end 
of  your  thumb  —  forget  it!  The  grand  duke  was  a 
man,  just  a  regular  man,  well  built,  of  a  kindly 
countenance  and  his  voice  not  smooth  or  effeminate 
and  yet  not  coarse  and  rasping.  His  words  as  he 
spoke  in  English  did  not  flow  in  liquid  form  nor 
were  they  hitched  up  to  run  in  smooth  sentences. 
On  the  contrary,  he  conveyed  his  meaning  in  the 
fewest  possible  words  and  they  came  rather  —  jerky, 
shall  I  say?  And  at  times  he  would  pause  for  an 
instant  to  get  the  proper  word,  but  never  was  up  in 
the  air  to  make  himself  understood. 

Of  course,  when  he  talked  to  his  companions  of 
his  own  country  we  did  not  follow  him.  The  lan- 
guage was  rough  in  sound  and  articulation,  but,  to 
judge  from  his  kindly  countenance  and  smile,  we 
knew  the  other  fellow  wasn't  catching  thunder  or  get- 
ting a  calling. 

I  have  since  wondered  if  a  Russian  courtship  did 
not  sound  like  a  wagon  running  over  a  corduroy 
bridge  or  sl  rickety  street  car  with  a  flat  wheel  trying 
to  earn  a  seven-cent  fare. 

The  first  night  out  the  camp  was  such  as  the 
plains  never  knew  before.  Sentinels  were  posted  at 
intervals  in  a  circle  a  full  mile  distant  each  way. 
The  stock  horses  and  mules  were  in  charge  of  the 
night  herders  and,  contrary  to  the  usage  on  the 
plains  at  that  time,  the  campfire  blazed  high,  giving 


142  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

the  surroundings  a  wild,  weird  aspect  as  the  lights 
and  shadows  chased  each  other. 

The  second  day  out  was  simply  an  easy  drive,  and 
the  long  train  moved  leisurely  to  a  point  selected  by 
Buffalo  Bill  where  the  buffalo  on  their  way  to  drink 
would  have  to  pass. 

Along  toward  noon  a  herd  of  buffalo  was  sighted 
and  the  hunters  prepared  for  the  chase.  The  grand 
duke  was  mounted  on  Buffalo  Bill's  celebrated  pony, 
Brigham,  and  furnished  with  a  rifle  which  in  the 
hands  of  Cody  was  in  the  habit  of  getting  a  buffalo 
every  time. 

The  grand  duke,  escorted  by  Cody,  Sinclair,  Estes 
and  Tucker,  started  for  the  moving  herd.  His  high- 
ness was  a  good  rider  and  a  good  shot  for  ordinary 
hunters,  but  the  buffalo  game  was  new  to  him. 

However,  Brigham  laid  him  up  alongside  a  buf- 
falo and  he  fired  two  shots,  putting  them  just  be- 
hind the  left  shoulder  according  to  instructions,  and 
just  here  is  where  he  wasn't  onto  the  buffalo  game. 

A  trained  buffalo  pony  will  let  you  get  close 
enough  to  place  your  shots  and  then,  knowing  that 
the  wounded  buffalo  will  turn  and  gore  him,  makes 
a  quick  getaway,  turns  at  right  angles  and  beats 
it  at  high  speed.  This  his  highness  was  not  prepared 
for  and  he  was  nearly  unhorsed.  As  it  was,  he  lost 
his  rifle  and  came  in  hanging  onto  the  pommel  with 
one  knee  thrown  over  the  saddle,  but  still  retaining 
his  grip. 

He  got  his  buffalo,  however,  and  that  head  and 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  143 

skin  is  probably  in  some  Russian  museum  today  if 
it  is  not  sacked  and  ruined  by  the  late  war. 

That  night,  when  everything  was  still,  when  those 
who  celebrated  the  grand  duke's  victory  were  sleep- 
ing, when  the  scent  of  roasting  buffalo  meat  had 
been  wafted  away  by  the  night  breezes  of  a  perfect 
night,  a  member  of  the  hunters'  gang  walked  boldly 
to  the  tent  which  sheltered  the  grand  duke  and 
picked  up  his  boots  and  started  off  with  them.  He 
was  at  once  stopped  by  the  men  in  the  tent,  but  he 
made  motions  to  indicate  a  polish  or  a  rub,  wearing 
all  the  time  a  smile  and  an  air  of  "all  right."  Of 
course,  those  in  the  other  tent  did  not  speak  English 
—  if  they  could  they  did  not.  So,  followed  by  one 
of  them,  that  durn  bold  thief  took  the  boots  to  a 
commissary  wagon  and  gave  them  a  swab  of  grease, 
taking  off  the  spurs  to  better  smear  the  dope.  After 
these  brief  ceremonies  were  gone  through  with,  he 
handed  the  boots  to  the  Russian  who  took  them  back. 
In  the  morning  that  darn  thief  put  the  spurs  on  his 
own  boots  and  slipped  his  in  the  commissary  wagon 
with  his  other  traps.  There  was  no  fuss  made  about 
the  spurs  and  I  doubt  if  the  Grand  Duke  Alexis 
ever  missed  them. 

But  those  identical  spurs  now  hang  on  the  wall 
of  my  den  in  company  with  other  curios.  Long 
after  I  stole  the  spurs  I  read  somewhere,  "Thou 
shalt  not  steal,"  but  I  guess  that  was  meant  for  some 
fellow  in  Jerusalem  or  Damascus. 

That  is  the  story  of  the  spurs.  Of  course,  that 
did  not  wind  up  the  hunt.    Other  buffalo  were  killed, 


144  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

and  the  robes  or  skins  were  all  baled  and  salted  for 
the  grand  duke,  and  with  the  head  of  the  buffalo  he 
killed  —  a  fine  specimen  —  were  sent  to  Fort  Leav- 
enworth where  the  robes  were  soft  tanned  by  mem- 
bers of  the  tribe  of  Delaware  Indians.  Under  their 
chief,  "Ross,"  they  were  living  in  comparative  civili- 
zation at  and  around  the  Osage  mission,  south  of 
Leavenworth  City,  the  present  site  of  the  National 
Soldiers'  home. 

Speaking  of  Chief  Ross  of  the  Delawares,  his 
wife  was  a  white  woman  and  his  daughter,  a  half- 
breed,  was  known  far  and  wide  as  the  most  beauti- 
ful Indian  girl.  Ross  himself  was  not  much  to  look 
at  —  just  Indian,  that's  all,  but  I  must  say  if  he 
had  been  a  white  man  he  would  have  made  his  mark 
as  an  organizer  at  least,  if  not  a  statesman.  His 
was  a  kindly  nature  and  he  was  simply  worshipped 
by  his  tribe.  He  had  the  esteem  and  was  on  friendly 
terms  with  the  Cherokees,  the  Sac  and  Fox  and  the 
remaining  few  of  the  Osage  tribes.  The  mother  was 
really  a  handsome  woman,  well  equipped  with  good 
common  sense,  but  uneducated  as  schooling  goes. 
The  daughter  for  a  time  attended  school  in  Leaven- 
worth, having,  as  I  remember,  for  her  teachers, 
David  J.  Brewer,  the  late  United  States  supreme 
judge,  and  the  outlaw,  Quantrall,  who  during  the 
Civil  War  sacked  and  burned  Lawrence,  Kan.  I 
am  not  sure  but  that  she  also  went  to  school  to  H. 
D.  McCarty,  afterwards  state  auditor,  I  think,  of 
Kansas,  and  during  the  war,  lieutenant  colonel  of 
the  First  Kansas  infantry. 


'iWafedB^ST* 


CHAPTER  XI 


Twenty-fourth  "Pow-Wow" 

JESSE  JAMES 

IT  IS  not  necessary  to  introduce  Eugene  Field  to 
you.  He  is  known  the  world  over  as  the  children's 
poet.  He  loved  children  and  was  beloved  by  them. 
It  was  my  good  fortune  to  be  pretty  close  to  'Gene. 
We  were  both  dreamers  and  by  that  same  token  we 
understood  each  other.  Together  we  worked  on  the 
old  St.  Joe  (Mo.)  Gazette,  then  owned  by  Tuft  & 
Gilbert,  'Gene  as  a  managing  editor  and  I  as  fore- 
man and  telegraph  editor.  Our  friendship  ripened 
into  that  camaraderie,  that  esteem,  that  love  which 
when  binding  men,  spells  friend  in  all  that  the  name 
implies.  We  swore  by  and  at  each  other.  We 
dumped  our  sorrows  on  each  other  and  together  we 
shared  our  pleasures.  Many  of  his  poems,  which 
later  became  household  gems,  were  read  to  me  as 
he  reeled  them  off  verse  by  verse. 

'Gene  was  a  humorist  and  his  "Tribune  Primer," 
which  first  appeared  in  the  Denver  Tribune,  caused 
many  a  hearty  laugh.  I  think  the  first  along  that 
line  was  one  he  wrote  in  St.  Joe  one  night  as  we 
sat  in  the  editorial  rooms  waiting  for  "30."     Out 

145 


146  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

of  and  just  below  our  window  were  a  couple  of 
cats  "telling  how  it  happened."  Gee,  but  they  were 
in  earnest.  They  both  yowled  at  once.  To  them  it 
may  have  been  cat  harmony,  but  to  us  it  amounted 
to  a  catastrophe. 

Finally  'Gene  laid  aside  the  proof  he  was  read- 
ing and  penciled  the  following,  which  he  handed 
to  me: 

"See  the  cat  and  the  kit, 
The  cat  is  the  dam  of  the  kit, 
Dam  the  cat  and  the  kit." 

But  that  is  really  an  aside,  or  off  the  question. 
However,  it  came  to  me  as  a  cloud  of  smoke,  so  I 
just  had  to  write  it. 

One  night  as  we  sat  in  the  office  we  got  a  hanker- 
ing to  go  hunting,  and  the  more  we  talked  about  it 
the  more  we  knew  we  were  going,  if  it  cost  us  our 
jobs. 

'Gene  had  his  hunting  stuff,  rifle,  etc.,  at  Kansas 
City,  and  one  morning  bright  and  early  we  took  the 
train  for  that  place,  intending  to  go  to  the  "squirrel" 
woods,  near  Independence,  or  Liberty,  Mo.  We 
got  started  in  good  season,  and  we  took  up  our  hunt. 

Lord,  what  a  walk!  How  our  feet  blistered! 
How  hungry  we  got!    But  we  didn't  get  a  squirrel. 

It  was  nearing  noon  and  we  simply  had  to  have 
something  to  eat.  In  those  days  every  house  had  a 
place  for  a  stranger  at  the  table  and  it  was  also 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  147 

understood  that  the  stranger  should  pay  for  his 
grub.  We  sighted  a  little  house  partly  of  logs  and 
partly  frame,  and  we  marked  it  as  our  "tavern."  It 
was  nearly  noon  as  we  approached  the  house,  being 
welcomed  by  a  hound  chorus  —  they  didn't  have  a 
brass  band  handy.  We  stood  outside  the  gate  and 
hallooed,  "Hello  the  house,"  and  the  door  was 
opened  and  an  elderly  lady  appeared.  Of  course, 
the  answer  was  all  right,  so  we  stepped  in. 

"Lay  off  your  traps,  gentlemen  (with  the  accent 
on  the  last  syllable),  and  go  out  to  the  pump  and 
wash  —  the  men'll  be  home  pretty  soon.  You  all 
bin  huntin'?    Have  any  luck?" 

We  told  her  that  we  had,  but  had  seen  nothing 
to  shoot. 

Well,  we  went  to  the  pump  and  found  there  a 
bench  made  of  a  split  log  with  legs  set  into  it,  and 
upon  it  was  a  tin  basin  and  a  cake  of  yellow  soap. 

We  made  ourselves  presentable  in  the  open  air, 
so  far  as  dust  and  grime  were  concerned,  and  when 
we  went  into  the  house  we  were  shown  to  a  mirror 
or  rather  an  old-fashioned  looking  glass.  I  can  see 
it  now.  The  upper  half  had  a  gayly  colored  picture 
of  a  church  among  awfully  green  trees  and  a  yellow 
road  leading  up  to  it,  winding  like  a  serpent  with 
a  jug  of  home  brew.  Beside  it,  hung  by  a  string, 
was  a  very  ancient  horn  comb,  which  sadly  needed 
a  dentist,  or  a  set  of  new  teeth.  But  we  used  it. 
Microbes,  you  know,  were  not  fashionable  in  those 
days. 


148  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

On  the  center  table  in  the  "parlor"  was  a  big 
family  Bible,  and  Ayer's  almanac,  a  vase  of  wax 
flowers  and  an  album. 

We  had  got  fairly  seated  after  looking  over  the 
"what-not"  in  the  corner  and  the  pictures  on  the 
wall  when  we  heard  the  shout  of  the  "men  folks," 
"Hello,  mother,  dinner  ready?" 

"Yes;  two  men  in  the  front  room  waitin'." 

The  son  stepped  in  and  said,  "Hello,  gentlemen. 
Waitin*  for  dinner?" 

We  told  him  who  we  were  and  what  we  were 
after,  and  as  we  sat  there  I  could  not  help  feeling 
queer,  for  I  recognized  Jesse  James  —  the  man  with 
a  price  on  his  head.  I  had  never  met  him  before, 
but  I  had  seen  him  once.  That  was  when  he  rode 
through  a  crowd  at  the  Kansas  City  fairgrounds 
with  a  pistol  drawn,  having  just  robbed  the  box 
office  of  the  fair. 

To  be  sure,  I  felt  chilly. 

But  he  soon  put  us  at  ease.  He  asked  us  if  we 
knew  him  and  I  told  him  I  did.  "You're  Jesse 
James,"  said  I,  and  'Gene's  face  turned  the  color 
of  a  newly  laundered  shirt  front. 

He  laughed  it  off  and  did  not  appear  to  fear  us 
two  cusses.  I  think  he  knew  we  would  not  arrest 
him  and  drag  him  before  the  bar  of  justice.  If  he 
didn't,  I  knew  we  wouldn't.    We  were  not  looking 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  149 

for  that  kind  of  game.     It  was  little,  harmless,  un- 
armed squirrels  we  sought. 

"Would  you  gentlemen  care  for  a  little  licker  be- 
fore dinner?"  he  asked.  We  were  in  no  position  to 
refuse,  neither  were  we  inclined  to  decline  that  hos- 
pitality. 

We  both  said  yes  at  once  and  he  disappeared,  to 
return  shortly  with  a  tin  dipper  holding  nearly  a 
pint  of  real  liquor,  which  he  served  in  tea  cups. 

We  sat  down  to  a  big  country  meal,  homemade 
bread,  real  butter,  fried  squirrel  and  plenty  of  'em, 
not  to  forget  the  "flour  gravy,"  beet  pickles,  pump- 
kin pie,  'serves  and  good  strong  coffee,  the  whole 
preceded  by  a  bourbon  curtain  raiser. 

The  curtain  raiser  with  its  close  predecessor  mel- 
lowed us  up  and  we  talked  of  Jesse  James'  life, 
touching  on  the  problem  of  why  he  was  not  in  hid- 
ing, or  why  he  remained  at  home,  knowing  that  there 
was  a  reward  offered  for  him,  dead  or  alive. 

He  told  us  that  the  whole  home  neighborhood  for 
miles  around  was  his  friend;  that  no  officer,  sheriff 
or  posse  could  reach  him  before  he  was  warned  by 
his  friends  and  that  the  sheriff  of  his  county  was 
not  only  his  friend,  but  that  he  had  eaten  dinner 
there  the  day  before. 

Of  course,  it  is  not  up  to  me  to  make  a  hero  of 
an  outlaw,  but  I  am  giving  you  the  plain  facts,  as 
we  encountered  them. 


150  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

His  mother,  Mrs.  Samuels,  had  lost  an  arm,  and 
even  with  this  handicap  set  us  out  a  dinner  "like 
mother  used  to  do." 

After  dinner  Jesse  James  went  out  with  us  and 
we  got  fourteen  squirrels.  'Gene  shot  one  and  it 
was  my  luck  to  bring  down  two.  We  blame  Jesse 
James  for  the  rest. 

We  left  in  the  early  evening  for  Kansas  City, 
but  not  before  we  had  shaken  hands  with  the  out- 
law and  thanked  both  him  and  his  mother  for  the 
pleasant  afternoon,  dinner  and  supper,  paying  for 
the  last  two  items  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  standard 
price  being  25  cents  a  meal  (with  the  licker 
thrown  in). 

A  few  days  after  our  return  to  St.  Joe  'Gene 
wrote  a  half-column  story  about  our  being  guests 
of  Jesse  James  and  his  mother  and  we  took  good 
care  to  send  them  half  a  dozen  marked  copies  of  the 
Gazette. 

About  three  months  after  this  episode,  I  was 
again  invited  to  be  a  guest  at  the  James  house.  The 
invitation  included  'Gene,  but  as  he  was  in  St.  Louis 
at  the  time,  he  could  not  be  reached.  But  you  bet 
that  I  lost  no  time  in  filing  my  answer  and  the  fol- 
lowing Thursday  I  appeared  on  the  scene,  ready 
for  a  bang-up  newspaper  story. 

Arriving  at  the  home  I  was  met  by  Mrs.  Samuels 
and  made  welcome.  It  was  really  a  hunting  dinner, 
for,  as  she  told  me,  the  men  were  out  in  the  timber. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  151 

As  it  was  nearly  noon,  I  did  not  have  long  to  wait. 
My  horse  was  taken  care  of  by  a  negro,  and  I  was 
made  comfortable,  as  I  drew  the  hickory  bottom 
chair  up  to  the  fire  place  and  got  warm,  for  it  was 
pretty  frosty  and  chilly.  There  were  several  neigh- 
bor women  there,  and  I  judged  it  was  a  family  re- 
union, but  no,  it  was  just  a  neighborhood  dinner. 

I  was  introduced  all  around,  and  as  nearly  as  I 
can  remember,  there  were  Mrs.  Edwards,  Mrs.  Cal- 
vert and  Mrs.  Mason  and  Mrs.  or  Miss  Richards, 
I  do  not  remember  which.  The  older  women  were 
smoking  pipes,  which  was  by  no  means  unusual  in 
those  parts. 

Soon  Jesse  James  and  another  man,  I  think  Mr. 
Mason,  came  in  with  several  rabbits,  quail  and 
prairie  chickens. 

It  was  a  real  old  country  gathering  and  there  was 
no  air  of  secrecy  or  suspicion,  though  even  at  that 
time  there  was  a  price  on  the  head  of  Jesse  James. 
In  that  country,  as  I  said  before,  every  one  was  the 
friend  of  Jesse  James  and  the  first  news  of  a  posse 
would  at  once  be  brought  to  him,  by  man,  woman, 
boy  or  girl. 

The  reason  is  probably  this:  No  person  in  that 
country  ever  suffered  from  Jesse  James  or  any  of 
his  "gang."  On  the  contrary,  more  than  one  poor, 
shall  I  say  shiftless,  family  was  carried  through  a 
hard  winter  because  of  his  help. 


152  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

When  the  call  came  for  dinner,  we  went  out  into 
the  big  kitchen,  which  also  served  as  a  dining  room. 

This  was  an  old-fashioned  wild  turkey  dinner.  I 
do  not  recall  the  cranberry  sauce,  perhaps  they  did 
not  have  any,  but  a  snap  of  my  finger  for  that,  for 
we  had  all  we  could  eat  without  any  city  frills. 

Did  you  ever  go  home  to  grandma's  house  for  a 
Thanksgiving  dinner?  (I  mean  you  who  read  this 
after  having  passed  the  half  century  mark.)  Well, 
get  out  your  napkin,  for  your  mouth  will  water. 

In  the  center  of  the  long  table  there  were  two 
wild  turkeys,  each  with  its  "trimmings,"  filling  a 
huge  platter.  One  had  blue  Chinese  houses  and 
trees,  while  the  other  was  yellow  with  a  white  stripe 
around  it.  This  difference  in  design  better  illus- 
trates the  neighborliness  of  those  Missouri  people. 
(Each  one  had  brought  with  her  plates,  cups, 
saucers,  spoons,  knives  and  forks.)  Now  you  have 
the  eating  tools,  but  listen  while  I  tell  you  what 
we  handled  with  them. 

The  wild  turkey,  done  to  a  turn,  crisp  and  brown, 
chock  full  of  real  sage  dressing  such  as  grandma 
only  knew  how  to  mix.  Generous  vegetable  dishes 
piled  high  with  mashed  potatoes,  with  a  crater  like 
a  vegetable  volcano  and  that  filled  with  butter  which, 
as  it  melted,  ran  down  the  sides  of  the  mound  like 
the  picture  of  Mount  Aetna  in  our  old  geography. 
Then  notice  two  or  three  yellow  bowls,  filled  with 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  153 

rich  brown  gravy  so  oily  that  it  would  make  the 
modern  dyspeptic  fear  for  the  worst.  But  we  did 
not  mind  it  —  dyspepsia  was  no  more  fashionable 
than  germs  in  those  days  down  in  Missouri. 

Then  there  were  beet  pickles  and  cucumber  pickles 
and  mince  pies  and  strong  coffee  with  real  cream, 
great  stacks  of  soda  biscuits,  piping  hot,  and  butter 
—  real  butter.  I  don't  know  how  many  kinds  of 
preserves  and  jams  were  on  the  table.  I  paid  no 
particular  attention  to  them;  I  was  busy  with  the 
turkey. 

After  we  had  eaten  till  we  were  almost  to  the 
"bustin'  "  point,  we  took  our  chairs  with  us,  went 
into  the  front  room  and  lighted  our  pipes. 

In  passing,  I  may  say  that  one  of  the  guests  was 
the  sheriff  or  deputy  sheriff  of  the  county,  and  he 
was  a  big,  good-natured  fellow  who,  as  he  related  a 
story  of  this  or  that  happening,  would  verify  it  by 
calling  to  his  wife,  "Didn't  we,  Matt?"  I  have  often 
thought,  as  the  years  have  passed,  that  this  officer 
was  a  member  of  the  Jesse  James  gang,  but  nothing 
that  was  said  would  lead  me  to  suspect  it.  It  was 
the  general  air  of  camaraderie  which  existed  be- 
tween the  outlaw  and  the  officer.  But  at  that  time 
I  gave  no  thought  along  those  lines. 

Jesse,  apparently  unmindful  of  a  stranger,  but 
really  for  my  benefit,  discussed  freely  two  train  rob- 
beries, naming  no  one  but  himself,  but  referring  to 
his  companions  as  "the  boys."     He  told  me,  also, 


154  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

that  he  got  credit  for  robberies  and  holdups  for 
which  he  was  not  responsible.  And  in  this  connec- 
tion, mentioned  a  gang  led  by  the  Moore  brothers, 
who  in  private  life  were  coopers  and  worked  for 
Mat  Ryan  of  Leavenworth,  Kan.,  who  was  a  butcher 
on  a  large  scale  and  sold  lard  by  the  barrel.  Both 
the  Moore  boys  had  been  killed  a  few  months  be- 
fore while  escaping  from  a  sheriff's  posse  near  St. 
Louis. 

The  evening  was  well  along  before  I  left  for 
Kansas  City  and  my  horse  was  brought  out  by  the 
negro,  well  cared  for  and  ready  for  the  start. 

I  recall  one  of  Jesse's  stories  in  fragments,  and 
I  believe  I  can  piece  it  together.  In  Kansas  City, 
on  Delaware  street,  I  think,  or  Main  street  near  the 
junction,  a  man  named  Matt  Foster  kept  a  large 
book  and  stationery  store.  In  times  past,  Foster 
had  befriended  Jesse  James'  father  in  a  small  finan- 
cial way.  Once  in  a  holdup  Foster  was  robbed  of 
his  watch  and  chain,  an  amethyst  ring  and  a  cameo 
breast  pin,  together  with  his  billbook  and  a  small 
sum  of  money. 

That  night  when  the  gang  met  at  Mrs.  Metcalfe's 
boarding  house  on  Wyandotte  street,  the  pocket- 
book  was  recognized  by  Jesse  James  because  of  a 
letter  addressed  to  Matt  Foster.  Jesse  made  in- 
quiries of  the  one  who  took  it  —  there  were  six  of 
the  gang  there  that  night  —  and  the  other  articles 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  155 

turned  in  by  his  "pals"  were  taken,  tied  up  in  a 
handkerchief  and  delivered  personally  that  night  to 
Foster  by  Jesse  James  himself,  who  knocked  at  the 
door  and  when  it  was  opened,  handed  in  the  pack- 
age, and  mounting  a  horse  held  by  a  comrade,  rode 
away  into  the  night.    This  I  got  from  Jesse  himself. 

There  are  lots  of  stories  afloat  of  the  James  boys, 
many  of  which  may  or  may  not  be  true.  One  in 
particular  I  recall,  but  it  sounds  so  much  like  a 
movie  scenario  that  it  might  be  pure  romance. 
However,  this  much  is  true.  A  woman  friend  and 
neighbor  of  his  mother  moved  to  St.  Louis  and 
opened  a  boarding  house.  She  was  an  Irish  woman 
named  Mrs.  Mahaffee,  and  her  boarders  were  mostly 
printers  working  on  the  St.  Louis  Democrat,  Here 
when  they  were  in  St.  Louis,  Jesse  and  Frank 
James  always  stopped  over  night.  But  here's  the 
story: 

One  night  Jesse  came  to  the  house,  knocked  at 
the  door  of  the  family  room  —  it  was  a  side  door  — 
and  was  admitted.  He  found  the  old  lady  in  a  state 
of  excitement  and  dejection.  Her  story  was  told 
to  Jesse  in  substance  as  follows:  She  had  made 
several  payments  on  her  house,  and  it  was  nearly 
paid  up.  A  real  estate  shark,  or  possibly  the  man 
who  held  the  mortgage,  demanded  the  rest  at  once, 
and  she  was  unable  to  pay.  The  next  evening  he 
was  coming  for  the  money,  and  if  it  was  not  forth- 
coming she  would  lose  her  property  —  all  she  had 
in  the  world. 


156  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

The  story  goes  that  Jesse  went  out  that  night  and 
got  the  money  for  her  —  it  does  not  say  that  he 
borrowed  it  or  earned  it  —  he  got  it. 

True  to  his  promise,  the  mortgage  holder  came 
the  next  night  ready  to  make  the  old  lady  trouble, 
but,  as  we  would  read  on  the  movie  screen,  "She 
had  the  cash." 

We  don't  know  whether  the  villain  said  "Coises!" 
or  "Foiled!"  but  the  cash  was  paid  and  a  receipt 
in  full  handed  over  which  gave  to  Mrs.  Mahaffee 
her  house. 

But  Jesse  was  secreted  there  and  as  the  "Base 
Villain"  walked  out  with  the  cash  in  his  pocket,  the 
lettering  on  the  screen  reads,  "Hands  up!"  and  the 
cash  found  its  way  again  into  Jesse's  pocket. 

Maybe  this  incident  did  not  occur,  but  anyway 
it's  just  like  Jesse  James. 

I  never  saw  him  after  that  dinner  but  once  —  on 
Robidoux  street  in  St.  Joseph,  Mo. 


CHAPTER  XII 

Twenty -fifth  "Pow-Wow" 
"abbie" 

WE  were  in  advance  of  a  government  wagon 
train,  far  out  on  the  plains  of  western  Kansas. 
The  sun  had  long  since  gone  down  behind  the  hills 
and  we  could  but  dimly  make  out  the  timber  line. 
By  "timber  line"  I  don't  mean  the  upper  edge  of 
the  timber  as  you  go  up  the  mountains,  where  snow 
and  verdure  meet,  but  those  strips  of  timber  which 
skirt  the  water  courses  of  the  west.     * 

When  we  reached  the  timber,  a  campfire  sparkled 
through  the  trees  and  we  could  see  the  red  smoke 
as  with  an  occasional  shower  of  sparks  upward,  it 
marked  the  camping  place  of  westward  bound  trav- 
elers. 

A  shot  and  a  heart-piercing  shriek  broke  out  on 
the  still  air.  Scream  followed  scream,  as  we  plunged 
the  spurs  into  our  horses  and  dashed  to  the  rescue 
of  whom  or  what  we  did  not  know.  Cody  first, 
Sinclair  next,  Powell  next,  with  the  writer  close 
behind,  followed  by  Ed.  Estes,  James  Currie,  mule 
drivers  and  a  "greaser"  from  the  wagon  train.  So 
far  in  advance  was  Cody,  that  when  we  came  up, 
two  Indians  were  laid  out  and  the  others,  maybe 
four  or  five  had  disappeared,  and  Billy  was  releas- 

157 


158  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

ing  the  man  of  the  camping  party  from  his  wagon 
wheel  where  he  had  been  bound  by  Indians  —  Dog 
Soldier  Indians  —  the  outlaws  of  the  plains.  The 
wife  and  mother  lay  dead,  a  baby's  brains  had  been 
dashed  out,  and  a  girl  about  ten  years  old  was  re- 
leased from  the  embrace  of  an  Indian  by  a  well- 
directed  shot  from  Cody's  pistol.  This  was  one  of 
the  two  who  would  never  raise  another  scalp.  The 
man's  name,  we  learned,  was  Cooper.  The  little 
wife  and  mother  was  laid  tenderly  under  a  tree,  and 
later  when  the  wagon  train  came  up,  she  was  buried 
at  the  foot  of  that  giant  of  the  forest,  and  in  the 
bark  of  that  cottonwood  tree  the  word  "Abbie"  was 
carved  by  the  husband,  and  the  little  woman  was 
left  alone  in  God's  wild  country,  the  soughing  winds 
and  rustling  leaves  chanting  nature's  requiem. 

Mr.  Cooper  and  his  daughter  accompanied  us  to 
Denver,  and  there  for  a  long  time  we  lost  sight  of 
them. 

A  few  years  later,  Cody,  the  scout,  was  handed 
a  letter  written  by  Hillyard  Cooper,  asking  him  to 
take  charge  of  "Little  Abbie,"  now  about  14  years 
old.  Her  father  had  died,  and  the  child  was  found 
in  keeping  of  a  miner  and  his  wife.  Cody  at  once 
took  charge  of  the  little  one,  sent  her  back  to  Leav- 
enworth where  in  the  home  of  a  good  Christian 
family  she  was  educated  and  grew  to  womanhood 
—  the  child  of  the  plains  —  the  ward  of  the  scout. 

She  is  now  the  wife  of  a  prominent  St.  Louis 
man  of  the  old  school,  and  her  grandchildren  re- 
vere the  name  of  Buffalo  Bill. 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  159 

Twenty-sixth  "Pow-Wow" 

HON.  W.  F.  CODY 

IF  I  were  to  lay  down  my  pen  without  speaking 
of  Cody  as  a  law  maker,  this  would  be  incom- 
plete. While  away  on  a  hunt  in  1870,  I  think  it 
was,  his  friends  elected  him  a  member  of  the  Ne- 
braska legislature.  When  he  came  home,  and  was 
informed  of  the  honor  thus  thrust  upon  him,  he  sim- 
ply "bucked,"  and  told  his  friends  he  wouldn't 
serve.  "A  joke's  a  joke,"  said  he,  "but  this  is  rather 
beyond  it."  When  told  that  it  was  all  straight,  and 
that  his  district  needed  him,  he  finally  buckled  down 
to  the  facts  in  the  case,  and  proceeded  to  look  up 
the  duties  of  his  new  office,  and  prepare  himself  to 
make  good. 

And  he  did  make  good.  There  are  laws  upon 
the  statutes  of  Nebraska  today,  establishing  the  rights 
of  settlers  which  were  formulated  and  placed  there 
by  Buffalo  Bill.  He  at  once  put  on  the  harness 
and  proceeded  to  do  business. 

A  born  leader  and  organizer,  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore he  had  the  hang  of  the  ropes  and  had  his  or- 
ganization complete,  ready  to  co-operate  with  him 
in  anything  for  the  good  of  the  young  state.  In 
those  days  the  corruption  of  a  legislator  was  not 
an  easy  matter,  and  knowing  Cody  as  the  people 
did,  they  feared  to  approach  him. 

And  here  let  me  describe  him.  He  wouldn't  cut 
his  hair,  which  lay  in  massive  locks  upon  his 
shoulders.    He  wouldn't  wear  a  plug  hat,  or  a  dress 


160  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

suit.  He  wore  his  trousers  tucked  in  his  boots  and 
his  gun  was  always  where  he  could  pull  on  the  drop 
of  a  hat.  But  those  were  the  days  when  every  man 
went  armed.     In  this  he  was  not  uncommon. 

He  was  "approached"  once,  however,  by  a  smooth 
representative  of  an  eastern  firm  of  land  grabbers, 
who,  poor  silly  fool,  thinking  that  "every  man  had 
his  price,"  sought  to  enlist  Cody  in  a  move  to  swin- 
dle settlers  out  of  their  lands.  I  chanced  to  be  vis- 
iting Bill  at  the  time. 

Did  you  ever  hear  Buffalo  Bill  roar? 

No? 

Well,  then,  in  his  show  days  did  you  ever  hear 
his  stentorian  voice  as  he  introduced  "The  Congress 
of  Rough  Riders  of  the  World?" 

Well,  Bill  used  that  same  voice.  And  he  roared. 
And  he  cussed.  Yes,  he  gave  that  poor  cringing 
devil  the  most  beautiful  line  of  rhythmical  profanity 
it  has  ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  hear.  Impreca- 
tions, maledictions  and  double- jointed,  embossed  and 
embellished  cuss  words  rolled  from  his  lips  like 
bourbon  from  a  moonshiner's  jug.  He  fairly  flat- 
tened the  poor  devil  against  the  wall,  and,  opening 
the  door  told  him  if  he  was  in  town  the  following 
day  he  would  fill  him  so  full  of  holes  that  a  colander 
would  be  air  tight  compared  to  him.  This  he  told 
him  as  he  was  busy  putting  his  boot  where  it  would 
emphasize  his  language  and  give  vent  to  his  feel- 
ings. It  was  this  which  really  brought  him  to  the 
front  as  a  maker  of  that  law  which  protected  the 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  161 

rights  of  the  settlers  and  secured  to  them  their  land, 
which  today  comprises  some  of  the  finest  farms  the 
sun  shines  on. 

That  year  the  Kansas  legislature  entertained  the 
Nebraska  legislature  at  Topeka.  It  was  a  grand 
gathering  of  those  western  solons.  The  big  guns, 
the  grand  speakers  and  prominent  politicians  were 
all  there  and  made  speeches,  but  the  greatest  crowd 
surrounded  Buffalo  Bill.  He  was  the  observed  of 
all  observers.  His  fame  as  a  scout  and  Indian 
fighter  was  there  before  him,  and  added  to  that,  his 
law  for  the  benefit  of  the  settlers  was  known  and 
applauded. 

But  at  the  grand  ball  in  the  evening!  When  the 
ladies  flocked  around  him.  He  was  sadly  out  of 
his  element.  He  showed  the  white  feather  and  at 
an  opportune  moment  he  turned  to  me  and  said: 

"It's  too  warm  here  for  us.  Let's  slope  for  the 
licker  room." 

"You're  right,  my  pard,"  says  I. 

Twenty-seventh  "Pow-Wow" 

BUFFALO   BILL'S   BILL 

SPEAKING  of  Buffalo  Bill  as  a  law  maker  puts 
me  in  mind  of  a  retort  he  made  in  the  heat  of 
debate.  It  was  when  his  bill  to  protect  the  rights 
of  settlers  came  up,  and  as  it  was  being  discussed, 
one  member  objected  to  locking  the  land  up  for 
future  generations. 

"We  are  looking,"  said  the  member,  "for  our- 
selves and  not  the  generations  yet  unborn.    We  will 


162  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

let  the  future  take  care  of  itself.  We  are  making 
laws  for  ourselves  and  for  the  present." 

I  can  still  see  a  flash  of  Cody's  eye  as  he  arose 
to  defend  his  bill  —  that  bill  which  still  holds  good 
and  through  which  the  present  generation  has  life, 
liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  guaranteed 
to  Americans  by  the  constitution  so  wisely  builded 
by  its  makers  at  Independence  Hall  over  two  hun- 
dred years  ago. 

"Mr.  President,"  said  Bill,  as  he  arose,  and  was 
recognized  by  the  chair,  "we  are  building  for  the 
future,  just  the  same  as  Washington  and  his  con- 
gress built  for  the  future.  It  was  for  the  future 
that  the  constitution  of  the  United  States  was 
planned,  and  here  in  this  age  we  reap  its  benefits. 
It  was  a  wisely  constructed  document,  for,  mark 
you,  Mr.  President  and  gentlemen,  it  in  its  original 
entirety,  applies  to  us  out  here  on  the  border  of  the 
boundless  west  just  as  perfectly  as  it  did  at  the 
birth  of  the  Republic  and  when  the  Mississippi  river 
was  thought  of  as  the  jumping  off  place  of  the 
world. 

"That  document,  Mr.  President,  was  an  inspired 
one.  Had  it  been  constructed  to  fit  the  then  present 
it  would  be  a  worthless  parchment  today. 

"There  is  no  present. 

"Today  is  yesterday  tomorrow,  and  now  is  then, 
in  a  twinkling. 

"When  we  are  young  we  are  struggling,  hoping, 
fighting,  working  for  the  future,  buoyed  up  by  the 
good  angel,  Hope,  for  a  place  in  the  future. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  163 

"All  our  energies  are  forward  bent.  We  throw 
our  lariat  over  the  point  of  a  star  and  secure  it  to 
our  wagon.  We  burn  the  fires  of  our  youth  and 
middle  age,  we  keep  our  muscles  tense,  buoyed  up 
with  bright  prospects  ahead.  Not  for  now  are  we 
working,  it  is  for  the  future  —  the  evanescent  fu- 
ture—  just  beyond  —  out  of  our  grasp.  We  attain 
this  or  that  object  only  to  use  it  as  a  stepping-stone, 
and  thrusting  ourselves  further  into  the  future,  push 
it  behind  us. 

"Is  it  not  the  truth?  All  the  men  we  know  are 
in  the  conflict.  Some  not  such  energetic  fighters, 
some  idly  lying  on  the  surface  drifting  along,  wait- 
ing for  something  to  turn  up  —  mayhap  the  toes  of 
a  rich  relation  —  but  all  looking  to  the  future. 

"The  hand  of  time  moves  on  picturing  the  good, 
the  bad,  the  fortunate  and  the  failure,  the  swift  sail- 
ing steamer  and  the  unmanned  derelict  —  all  drift- 
ing or  pushing,  for  the  future.  But  the  future  is 
never  reached  so  that  we  may  stand  solid  thereon 
and  say:     'This  is  truly  the  present.' 

"There  comes  a  time  when  we  cease  to  care  so 
much  for  the  now  or  for  the  future.  Many  there 
be  who,  as  we  look  at  them  we  say:  'He's  rich,  he's 
happy.' 

"The  same  man  we  envy  looks  lovingly  back  to 
the  good  old  times  of  the  past.  Pleasant  memories 
present  to  him  the  many  pleasures  he  had,  but  which 
were  not  appreciated  in  his  struggle  for  the  evasive 
future. 


164  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

"Back  in  that  humble  cottage,  away  back  there, 
sits  father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  around  the  eve- 
ning lamp  —  a  happy  home. 

"Memory  works.  The  roseate  hue  of  the  first 
throes  of  love  pass  before  his  vision.  A  sweet-faced 
schoolgirl  —  his  early  love  is  there  —  the  pleasant 
walk  to  and  from  school  with  steps  slow  —  oh,  so 
slow,  and  with  the  parting  of  the  ways  all  too  close. 
The  future  is  discussed  between  you  two  —  you  re- 
member it.  Castles  of  air  and  with  all  the  hues  of 
the  rainbow  are  builded. 

"Another  movement  of  memory.  Your  bride  sits 
by  your  side.  All  is  sweet,  all  is  heaven,  and  as  hand 
in  hand  you  sit  in  the  twilight,  you  build  more 
castles,  looking  forward,  ever  forward  to  —  the  fu- 
ture. 

"A  tiny  hand,  a  golden  curl,  a  sweet  face,  a  sun- 
shine in  your  home.  Oh,  the  joy  of  motherhood  — 
the  pride  of  the  young  father,  as  he  strokes  the 
silken  hair  of  his  first-born,  the  man  of  the  future, 
your  boy. 

"Do  you  recognize  the  picture  on  the  plate  of 
memory?  It  is  the  castle  you  builded  for  your  boy, 
your  little  Carl.  All  is  joy,  hope,  faith  in  j^our  son. 
Every  energy  shall  be  bent,  every  nerve  strained  to 
make  that  boy  —  your  boy  —  a  man  among  men,  a 
leader,  respected  and  honored  of  all  men. 

"The  picture  of  our  memory  still  moves.  We  do 
not  see  the  record  of  the  present.     The  light  fails, 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  165 

the  picture  dims.     A  little  white  cot,  a  lovely  child 
flushed  with  fever. 

"Listen!  a  soft  bell  is  tolling 
"A  little  white  hearse,  with  its  following,  winds 
slowly  up  over  the  hill  to  the  silent  city  of  marble. 
"That  is  all. 

"The  future,  as  we  turn  to  it,  presents  our  true 
friend,  Hope.  Holding  in  her  hand  a  scroll,  she, 
with  her  fairy  wand,  points  to  the  words: 

"  '  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  Me'  —  and, 
as  we  ponder  the  meaning,  we  locate  the  home  of 
our  little  loved  one. 

"Hope  turns  a  page. 

1  'I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you' — 

"  'Hope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast'  they 
say,  and  by  her  help  we  read  the  guide  board  —  the 
message  our  little  Carl  left  as  the  good  angel  bore 
him  onward. 

'  'I  am  here ;  our  home  is  waiting.     Waiting  for 
papa  and  mamma.' 

"It  was  the  Christ  child  whose  natal  day  we  cele- 
brate made  this  possible.  It  was  His  advent  on 
earth.  His  thirty  years'  journey;  his  great  sacrifice 
which  called  into  being  the  good  angel  Hope,  always 
beckoning  us  onward,  always  pointing  forward  to 
the  future  —  the  bright  future  just  beyond  — 

"No,  there  is  no  present. 


166 


ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 


"Then  let  us  build  for  the  future.  The  past  has 
gone.    We  have  only  the  future. 

"Let  us  here  and  now  build  for  the  generations 
yet  unborn.  When  our  proud  state  shall  be  known 
as  a  commonwealth  of  contented  homes." 

This  speech  was  made  just  before  Christmas,  and 
the  bill  was  passed,  securing  the  rights  of  settlers  in 
Nebraska,  and  presented  to  that  state  as  a  Christ- 
mas gift. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


Twenty-eighth  "Pow-Wow" 

WHITE  FAWN 

THIS  was  the  name  borne  by  a  white  girl  who 
had  been  stolen  while  a  baby  by  the  Indians. 
It  was  in  the  days  of  the  big  plains,  when  Denver 
was  but  a  handful  of  houses,  shacks  and  tents.  It 
was  long  before  the  bands  of  steel  had  united  the 
oceans,  and  dotted  the  western  prairies  with  farms, 
towns  and  cities.  It  was  in  the  days  when  a  horde 
of  redskins  would  appear  to  a  moving  family  or 
train  of  movers,  and  steal  live  stock,  and  in  many 
instances  murder  the  party  outright. 

Camped  for  the  night  on  the  banks  of  a  stream 
was  a  party  of  movers,  seeking  homes  in  the  new 
west.  A  band  of  Indians  (Cheyennes)  came  upon 
the  party,  and  drove  off  their  live  stock,  shot  two 
of  the  men,  mistreated  the  women,  and  carried  away 
captive  a  little  child  ten  years  old.  One  of  the  men 
was  so  badly  wounded  that  he  died  the  second  day 
after,  but  the  others  were  unhurt.  A  single  team 
of  horses  escaped  the  stampede  and  were  hitched 
to  one  of  the  wagons,  and  moved  on.  The  mother 
of  the  little  one  was  frantic,  but  there  was  no  trace 

167 


168  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

of  her  child  or  of  the  Indians,  so  there  was  nothing 
to  do  but  to  move  on  with  the  party,  leaving  her 
little  one  to  her  fate.  This  may  sound  heartless,  but 
it  would  avail  the  mother  nothing  to  stay  at  the 
scene  of  her  trouble.  Her  little  one  was  gone,  and 
she  fervently  prayed  that  the  Good  Lord  in  His 
mercy  had  taken  her  to  himself.  Days  wore  them- 
selves into  weeks,  weeks  into  months,  and  no  tidings 
of  the  child.  The  word  had  gone  out,  and  every 
plainsman  knew  of  the  stolen  child  and  kept  a  look- 
out for  her.    But  now  it  faded  from  their  memory. 

Years  afterward  when  Cody  was  a  pony  express 
rider  he  heard  of  a  white  girl  with  a  tribe  of  Indians. 
She  was  known  as  "White  Fawn,"  and  Cody  de- 
termined to  see  if  it  were  the  lost  girl.  He  watched 
for  that  migrating  tribe,  and  his  efforts  were  re- 
warded after  several  months,  searching  at  odd  times, 
when  he  was  not  on  a  scouting  trip  or  guiding  a 
train. 

It  was  at  a  time  when  the  red  men  were  at  peace 
with  the  whites,  a  temporary  lull  so  that  they  could 
draw  rations  from  the  government,  that  Cody,  who 
was  attached  to  a  supply  train,  came  upon  White 
Fawn  as  she,  with  the  members  of  her  tribe,  came 
into  camp  to  draw  their  supplies.  There  were 
no  established  trading  posts  then.  The  Indians  were 
in  camp  a  short  distance  from  the  supply  camp,  and 
the  young  scout  made  a  night  visit  to  the  Indian 
camp.  He  waited  his  opportunity  to  get  a  word 
with  the  girl,  and  it  seemed  she  was  anxious  to  speak 
with  him.     But  the  watchful  eye  of  the  old  squaw, 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  169 

her  foster  mother,  prevented.  There  was,  however, 
a  friendly  squaw  who  met  Cody  and  volunteered 
her  assistance  to  spirit  the  girl  beyond  the  limits  of 
the  camp,  to  a  point  where  the  young  scout  could 
meet  her.  The  meeting  was  a  success  and  plans 
were  then  laid  whereby  "White  Fawn"  was  to  leave 
her  red  people  and  go  with  him  to  "the  States/5' 
where  she  could  be  with  the  whites. 

It  was  a  long  story,  as  it  was  told  me,  though  he 
succeeded  in  getting  her  away.  The  night  was  fixed, 
and  the  girl  and  her  Indian  friend  were  at  the  spot 
appointed.  Cody  was  there  with  his  own  horse  and 
a  government  horse,  and  the  buckskin  traveling 
trunk  of  White  Fawn  was  strapped  to  the  saddle. 
Not  a  soul  in  camp  knew  of  the  move  save  the  offi- 
cer in  command,  and  it  was  through  him  that  Cody 
secured  the  extra  horse.  It  was  midnight  when  the 
pair  started  for  the  fort  and  it  was  early  morning 
before  they  reached  it. 

For  some  time  the  two  rode  over  the  prairies, 
along  the  wagon  trail,  each  moment  taking  them 
farther  away  from  danger  of  discovery  or  capture, 
for  the  Indians  were  very  jealous  of  White  Fawn 
and  discovery  of  her  absence  would  be  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  pursuit. 

Slowing  down  their  horses  as  they  ascended  a  rise, 
they  felt  rather  secure.  The  night  was  a  perfect 
one,  bright  with  stars,  and  the  moon  had  not  yet 
risen. 

Listen!  Far  to  the  rear  came  faintly  the  sound 
of  hoof  beats  muffled  by  the  turf  road  of  the  prairies. 


170  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Not  one,  but  many,  it  seemed,  and  the  sensitive  hear- 
ing of  the  horses  seemed  to  take  on  the  importance 
of  hurry,  and  without  spur  or  whip  they  went  to 
their  work.  The  short  respite  had  rested  the  well- 
broken  thoroughbreds,  and  they  easily  took  the  long 
swinging  gallop  of  a  trained  prairie  horse.  It  was 
their  native  heath  and  both  horses  were  of  superior 
wind  and  range.  Not  an  ounce  of  fat.  All  muscle 
and  bone  and  wind  which  would  far  out-strip  the 
most  highly  prized  thoroughbreds  of  the  east. 

A  word  to  his  horse,  and  the  animals  with  one 
accord  let  out  another  link  of  speed,  but  still  nearer, 
nearer  and  more  distinct  came  the  pursuers.  It  was 
a  ride  to  the  finish.  It  was  the  chase  of  death,  for 
well  Cody  knew  that  a  capture  by  that  Indian  horde 
meant  death  for  him  and  worse  for  his  girl  com- 
panion. 

White  Fawn  set  her  lips  and  urged  her  gallant 
steed  forward.  Not  a  sound  of  fear  did  she  utter. 
Only  an  encouraging  word  and  a  tap  of  her  moc- 
casined  feet  in  the  animal's  flank.  The  moon  com- 
ing up  threw  a  flood  of  light  over  the  prairie  and 
shed  a  radiance  on  the  race. 

On  came  the  savages,  half  a  dozen  in  number, 
mounted  on  fresh  horses.  On  they  came,  until  find- 
ing they  were  discovered,  they  raised  that  curdling 
yell  so  well  known  to  the  plainsmen.  It  was  the 
cry  of  demons.  It  was  the  wild  chant  of  death. 
Would  the  noble  horses  hold  out  half  an  hour 
longer?    Could  they? 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  171 

Already  their  sides  thumped  and  their  breath 
came  in  labored  puffs,  but  still  the  mettle  of  the  war- 
horse  never  slackened  speed.  Now  the  course  was 
a  gentle  slope  down  the  hill,  and  the  advantage  they 
gained  would  put  them  pretty  close  to  the  fort,  at 
least  within  gunshot  sound. 

The  mad  race  continued,  and  the  Indians,  well 
knowing  they  must  capture  them  quickly  or  give  up 
the  chase,  put  their  horses  to  their  best. 

They  were  gaining. 

Cody  saw  that  the  race  was  over,  and  something 
must  be  done,  for  their  horses  showed  signs  of  giv- 
ing out.  The  noble  animals  were  almost  at  the  end 
of  their  endurance. 

The  fort  was  in  sight,  but  still  a  good,  long  dis- 
tance away. 

"Ride  your  best,  but  spare  your  horse,"  said  Cody. 
"Don't  wait  for  me,  but  ride,  ride." 

White  Fawn  kept  up  the  pace  while  Cody  turned 
in  the  saddle  and  saw  the  Indians  just  over  the  brow 
of  the  hill.  Like  a  statue  he  and  his  horse  stood, 
he  ready  with  his  rifle,  and  the  horse,  breathing  hard 
but  gaining"  its  lost  wind. 

As  soon  as  the  foremost  came  within  range,  Cody 
sent  a  well-directed  shot  and  dropped  the  oncoming 
horse.  This  gave  him  time,  for  the  Indians  stopped 
for  a  moment,  but  soon  they  were  again  on  the 
chase.  Another  shot  from  Cody,  and  still  another 
had  a  tendency  to  slacken  their  speed  to  keep  them 
out  of  his  range.     This  was  continued  until  one 


172  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

young  buck,  more  reckless  than  the  rest,  rode  far 
in  advance  of  the  others  and  opened  fire  on  Cody. 
He  was  not  a  good  shot,  but  Cody  turned  in  the 
saddle  and  this  time  shot  the  rider,  not  the  horse. 

This  ended  the  pursuit,  and  just  as  the  gray  of 
dawn  was  dimming  the  moonlight,  Cody  and  White 
Fawn  rode  into  the  fort. 

The  horses  were  worn  out,  but  thanks  to  the  love 
of  every  plainsman  for  horses,  they  were  at  once 
taken  in  hand  and  cared  for  as  tenderly  and  kindly 
as  though  they  were  the  winning  favorites  of  a  king. 

White  Fawn  was  taken  charge  of  by  the  wife 
of  one  of  the  officers,  and  through  the  good,  big 
heart  of  General  Carr,  she  was  taken  to  the  East,  to 
be  educated,  and  fitted  to  take  her  place  as  a  white 
woman.  The  news  of  her  capture  got  into  the  papers 
and  it  was  not  long  before  her  parents  came  from 
Denver  to  claim  their  long  lost  child.  The  good 
natured  General  Carr  suggested  that  the  waif  of 
the  prairies  be  given  the  name  of  "White  Fawn 
Cody,"  or  as  he  put  it  in  a  joking  manner,  "Cody's 
Deer." 

White  Fawn  is  not  a  person  of  the  past.  True, 
she  is  not  the  bounding  lassie  she  was  when  she  was 
"an  Indian,"  but  she  is  a  well-preserved  Denver 
lady  with  little  white  fawns  of  her  own,  who  in  turn 
have  their  families  about  them.  The  world  has  been 
kind  to  White  Fawn,  and  I  think  she  will  read  this 
little  sketch  of  herself  in  her  own  beautiful  Denver 
home. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  178 

White  Fawn  spends  much  of  her  summer  outing 
with  Col.  Cody's  sister  —  Mrs.  Decker,  in  the  health- 
ful climate  of  Cody  City,  Wyoming,  up  in  the  moun- 
tains where  the  air  is  pure  and  the  waving  pines  give 
out  their  health  laden  aroma,  where  the  mountain 
trout  are  plentiful,  and  big  game  lures  the  adven- 
turous hunter. 

Twenty -ninth  "Pow-Wow" 

ALONE  WITH  GOD 

IF  you  are  a  fairly  old  man,  you  could  have  seen 
what  I  have  seen.  But  if  you  are  as  old  as  the 
everlasting  hills  and  have  never  been  west  of  the 
Missouri  river,  you  could  not  have  seen  it. 

Have  you  ever  been  alone  with  God? 

Go  with  me  to  the  vast  and  seemingly  endless 
prairies  of  the  west,  ride  alone  all  day,  far,  far  from 
any  human  habitation,  over  the  boundless  sea  of 
waving  prairie  grass,  the  summer  sun  beating  down 
upon  you,  catching  a  drink  now  and  then  from  a 
buffalo  wallow  or  a  water  hole,  watching  the  blazing 
sun  transformed  now  into  a  big  red  ball  nestle 
quietly  down  into  the  same  sea  of  green  which  sur- 
rounds you  on  all  sides. 

If  you  know  your  horse,  or  as  in  my  case,  your 
mule,  you  will  take  off  saddle  and  bridle  and  turn 
him  loose  to  roll  and  graze  the  night  through  or 
settle  down  for  a  quiet  snooze,  well  fitted  for  rest 
by  his  tiresome  journey. 

You  settle  your  saddle  for  a  pillow,  spread  your 
blanket,  open  your  grub  sack  and  take  out  your 


174  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

hard  tack  and  sow  belly  and  proceed  to  have  supper. 
You  light  your  fire  of  dried  grass  of  last  year's  vin- 
tage, backed  by  dried  buffalo  chips,  and  do  what 
cooking  you  can  in  the  shape  of  frying  the  bacon 
in  its  own  grease,  making  coffee  in  your  "horseback" 
camp  kettle,  and  with  an  appetite  whetted  by  "the 
plains,"  devour  as  a  dainty  morsel  such  grub  as 
would  turn  your  stomach  "in  civilization." 

But  you  are  on  the  plains.  Restaurants  and  short 
order  houses  are  not  sending  out  their  enticing 
odors.  Bacon  has  a  mighty  fine  flavor,  and  besides, 
the  legs  of  that  jack  rabbit,  browned  to  a  turn  in 
the  bacon  grease,  makes  good  eating.  Butter?  Nope, 
bacon's  good  enough. 

But  supper's  over.  You  fill  your  pipe  and  set- 
tle down  for  a  good  smoke.  You  are  all  alone.  It 
is  dark.  You  can  hear  your  mule  feeding  just  a 
few  yards  away.  As  he  grazes  here  and  there,  pick- 
ing the  choice  tufts  of  buffalo  grass,  you  can  hear 
each  time  he  cuts  off  a  tuft  and  grinds  it  up  with  a 
champ,  champ. 

You  settle  down  on  your  back,  look  up,  up  into 
the  dark,  spangled  distance.  A  mammoth  dark  bowl 
covers  you.  It  is  studded  with  stars.  At  all  points 
the  great  circle  comes  down  and  resting  upon  the 
earth,  shuts  you  in.  You  do  not  have  a  feeling  of 
being  shut  in;  on  the  contrary,  you  feel  free,  free, 
alone  —  it  is  all  yours.  Yours  to  gaze  upon;  to 
breathe  in  the  pure  air  of  the  boundless  west. 

You  are  alone  —  with  God. 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  175 

You  feel  safe. 

True  it  is,  alone  as  you  may  feel,  there  are  hun- 
dreds—  nay,  thousands  —  to  bear  you  company. 
Listen  to  the  noise  of  the  silence  —  a  paradox.  Hear 
the  katydid,  the  grasshopper,  and  the  thousands  of 
other  insect  hymns  of  praise  to  the  Great  Ruler  of 
the  Universe. 

This  is  God's  country. 

It  may  be  that  your  sleep  will  be  deep  and  un- 
broken till  the  early  dawn,  or  perhaps  your  mule, 
waking  up,  has  missed  you  or  wandered  away.  Then 
he  will  tune  up  as  only  a  lonesome  mule  can,  and 
call  for  you.  You  will  know  it  is  a  call,  for  it  is 
more  plaintive  and  entirely  different  from  the  bray 
of  the  animal  under  ordinary  circumstances. 

I  am  judging  your  mule  by  my  mule.  You  rise 
up  and  call  or  answer  your  faithful  companion  and 
he  will  come  to  you  whisking  his  tail  as  sportily  as 
if  he  did  not  know  he  had  a  long  day's  journey  be- 
fore him. 

The  dew  on  the  grass  has  given  him  drink,  or 
moisture  as  well  as  food,  and  he  is  in  good  shape  to 
make  it  to  the  first  watercourse. 

This  is  a  day  and  a  night  —  but  it  was  of  the 
night  I  sought  to  tell. 

As  you  lie  there  looking  up  at  the  stars  there 
seems  to  be  a  holy  hush,  and  I  defy  any  old  plains- 
man to  say  that  he  has  laid  down  in  the  middle  of 
that  vast  green  universe  under  that  big,  starry  bowl 
that  he  did  not  think  of  God,  and  of  the  great  power 


176  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

and  kindness,  and  protection  of  the  ruler  whose 
name  is  God. 

I  care  not  how  wicked  he  may  be,  an  outlaw  if 
you  will,  that  spark  of  God  in  all  mankind  recog- 
nizes its  master  and  goes  out  to  Him  in  the  lonely 
vastness  of  the  broad  prairie.     He  feels  — 

Alone  with  God. 

This  prelude  I  write  to  show  what  Will  Cody  ex- 
perienced, not  once,  but  many  times,  when  on  urgent 
trips  through  the  heart  of  the  hostile  Indian  coun- 
try, bearing  dispatches  from  one  army  post  to  an- 
other, often  through  territory  where  he  dared  not 
build  a  fire  by  day  or  night,  for  the  light  is  a  guide 
for  hostile  Indians  by  night  and  a  pillar  of  smoke 
by  day  invites  the  red  man  to  lift  your  scalp.  It  is 
lonesome  enough  in  times  of  peace,  when  danger 
does  not  threaten,  but  how  much  it  draws  upon  a 
man's  bravery  when  he  undertakes  a  trip  of  days 
through  a  country  where  every  rise  of  a  hill  may 
disclose  a  horde  of  blood-thirsty  redskins.  Literally, 
he  took  his  scalp  in  his  hand,  he  who  made  those 
trips,  and  more  than  once  this  fearless  scout  has 
saved  the  soldiers'  women  and  children  of  the  bor- 
der army  posts.  What  this  government  owes  to 
Buffalo  Bill  may  never  be  written,  or  paid. 

And  these  "forlorn  hope"  trips  were  taken,  not 
by  a  soldier,  who  acted  under  orders,  but  by  a  man 
who  volunteered.  Medals  he  has  been  given,  it  is 
true,  by  congress.  Letters  of  commendation  galore, 
he  has  had  from  generals  of  the  army,  but  I  am 
free  to  acknowledge,  right  here  and  now,  I  have 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  177 

never  seen  the  time  when  I  valued  my  auburn  locks 
so  cheaply  as  to  undertake  any  one  of  the  many 
trips  made  by  Buffalo  Bill  through  hostile  Indian 
country  in  the  interests  of  civilization. 

I  have  since  seen  him  in  his  great  show  surrounded 
by  his  army  of  people  and  admired  him,  but  never 
has  my  heart  welled  up  into  my  throat  as  it  did 
when  I  watched  him  disappear  over  the  rise  on  a 
mission  from  which  I  felt  he  would  never  return. 

Verily,  he  was  alone  with  God. 

Thirtieth  ccPow-Wow" 

A  PERILOUS  TRIP 

I  WONDER  if  there  yet  lives  some  of  the  party 
of  settlers  of  that  frontier  post,  who  were  so  near 
an  Indian  massacre.  I  mean  those  who  were  doomed 
by  the  hordes  of  Indians  to  torture  and  death,  to 
rapine  and  robbery. 

Word  of  the  uprising  was  given  by  a  friendly 
Indian  to  Buffalo  Bill,  who  had  just  come  to  the 
post  after  a  long  and  tiresome  ride.  He  told  it  to 
the  commanding  officer,  who  at  once  sought  means 
of  relief,  and  called  for  volunteers  to  carry  dis- 
patches to  another  post  with  orders  to  move  at  once 
and  save  the  little  camp  of  settlers.  Though  there 
were  soldiers  and  scouts  in  the  fort,  not  one  cared 
to  encounter  what  all  knew  would  be  certain  death. 

Cody  had  been  in  the  saddle  twenty-four  hours, 
and  his  horse  was  dead  beat  out  and  Buffalo  Bill 


178  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

himself  did  not  look  as  if  he  could  travel  another 
mile. 

"General,"  said  he,  "if  you  can't  find  anyone  else, 
I  will  go  if  you  will  furnish  me  a  good,  fresh  horse." 

"Billy,"  said  the  officer,  "I  think  you've  done  your 
share,  and  I  don't  believe  you  could  stand  the  ride, 
but  if  you  feel  equal  to  it  and  are  willing  to  under- 
take the  task,  the  best  horse  in  the  stables  is  at  your 
command." 

Food  and  coffee  were  provided,  and  Billy  fell  to 
and  ate  with  an  appetite  sharpened  by  fasting  and 
the  crisp,  invigorating  air  of  the  western  prairies. 

He  went  to  the  stables  and,  looking  over  the 
horses,  selected  one  which  he  felt  he  could  trust. 
Equipped  with  an  extra  amount  of  ammunition  and 
firearms,  and  light  but  substantial  food,  dried  buf- 
falo meat  and  a  slice  or  two  of  bacon,  he  started  on 
his  errand  of  life  saving. 

The  way  led  him  over  the  trackless  prairies,  and 
as  a  bird  flies,  he  took  his  ride  across  the  billowy  sea 
of  waving  grass,  to  the  southwest,  his  only  guide  the 
stars,  and  his  native  instinct,  if  it  can  so  be  termed. 

Miles  away  he  could  see  the  signal  fires  of  the 
various  camps  of  Indians,  and  he  well  knew  that  if 
before  the  daylight  gave  the  Indians  a  sight  of  him. 
before  the  daylight  gave  the  Indians  a  sight  of  him. 

His  horse  was  well  chosen.  He  was  all  that  Cody 
counted  he  would  be.  His  gait  was  a  long  swinging 
lope,  changing  now  and  then  to  a  rangy  canter,  but 
losing  no  time,  as  he  widened  the  gap  between  the 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  179 

Indians  and  him,  and  drew  closer  to  the  soldiers 
whom  he  sought. 

Not  once  in  the  whole  night  did  he  encounter  a 
person,  red  or  white,  and  it  was  not  until  early  dawn 
as  he  took  the  rise  of  a  hill  that  he  was  seen  by  the 
Indians.  Just  before  him  and  in  the  direct  line  of 
his  trail,  a  mile  away,  stood  an  Indian  lookout 
mounted  on  a  splendid  specimen  of  horseflesh,  and 
as  the  two  stood  thus  and  from  hill  to  hill  surveyed 
each  other  they  might  have  been  taken  for  eques- 
trian statues,  so  still  were  they  and  motionless. 

Just  a  look.  His  rifle  was  unslung,  the  cinch  of 
his  saddle  made  more  secure,  his  pack  load  thrown 
to  the  ground  and  all  made  as  light  for  his  noble 
animal  as  possible.  Slowly  he  rode*  down  the  hill 
until  out  of  sight  of  the  sentinel,  and  then  giving 
rein  to  his  well  trained  prairie  horse,  skirted  the  hill,, 
and  at  a  mad  gallop  far  faster  than  had  been  asked 
of  the  horse  he  took  up  his  race  with  death.  On 
sped  the  noble  animal.  Not  a  sound  of  broken 
wind ;  not  a  single  misstep ;  not  a  sign  of  grief.  The 
horse  was  a  thorough  western  animal.  He  knew 
what  was  expected  of  him,  and  as  he  spurned  the 
turf  of  the  prairie,  the  rein  loose  on  the  saddle,  he 
picked  his  own  way.  No  rein  needed  he,  no  spur, 
no  urging.  He  was  really  Buffalo  Bill  in  horseflesh. 
His  rider  sat  with  ease  in  the  saddle,  and  from  time 
to  time  half  turned,  looking  for  the  red  devils  which 
he  knew  must  be  in  pursuit.  He  did  not  look  in 
vain,  for  close  within  range  a  party  of  swift  riding 
braves  were  crossing  the  now  rolling  prairie  to  inter- 


180  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

cept  him.  He  watched  closely  till  he  had  a  good 
sight  on  the  foremost,  who  was  fully  a  hundred 
yards  ahead  of  the  others,  and  pulled  the  trigger, 
killing  the  horse  and  throwing  the  redskin  to  the 
ground.  Not  a  step  did  the  faithful  horse  lose  nor 
once  did  he  falter.  Raising  himself  in  the  stirrups, 
Cody  loaded  and  sent  another  ball  from  his  old  "Lu- 
cretia,"  as  he  called  his  rifle.  This  disconcerted  his 
followers  as  another  horse  dropped,  and  Cody  gained 
time.  He  rode  into  the  post  just  at  daybreak,  and 
gave  the  alarm. 

The  cavalry  were  out  in  a  twinkling,  for  those  bor- 
der soldiers  slept  ready  for  instant  fight.  The  troops 
rode  to  the  little  settlement,  and  after  a  short,  but 
decisive  battle,  put  the  Indians  to  flight,  leaving  sev- 
eral dead  and  wounded  on  the  field,  evidence  of  the 
markmanship  of  those  western  fighters.  Thus  Buf- 
falo Bill  was  talked  of  by  all  plainsmen,  and  finally 
it  got  to  the  ears  of  the  authorities  at  Washington. 
As  a  result,  Buffalo  Bill  was  presented  with  an 
elegant  medal  voted  by  congress  for  his  heroic  deed. 

The  little  post  was  saved.  Men,  women  and  chil- 
dren of  that  border  post  owe  their  lives  to  a  scout 
who  rode  for  a  day  and  two  nights,  had  taken  part 
in  the  fight  and  had  pretty  well  earned  a  square 
meal  and  a  good  sound  sleep. 

This  feat  of  horsemanship  and  endurance  was  the 
wonder  of  the  townspeople,  and  demonstrated  brav- 
ery, endurance,  and  determination. 

At  this  post,  too,  were  a  couple  of  Englishmen 
who  were  over  here  to  view  the  boundless   west, 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  181 

and  years  afterwards,  when  Buffalo  Bill  was  in 
England  with  his  great  show,  one  of  these  men, 
the  late  Lord  Harcourt,  came  to  him  and  in  the 
gathering  of  the  nobility  personally  thanked  him 
for  his  brave  work,  and  told  the  story  to  his  friends 
as  they  were  gathered  around  him. 

It  was  this  recognition  which  led  England's  be- 
loved Queen  Victoria  to  personally  express  her 
thanks  to  Buffalo  Bill,  for  saving  a  member  of  the 
royal  family. 

A  friend  of  mine  who  witnessed  this  episode 
wrote  me: 

"I  felt  proud  to  see  my  own  countryman  a  king 
among  kings,  and  towering  head  and  shoulders  above 
royalty  —  a  man  and  an  American." 

Thirty- first  rePow-Wow" 

BUFFALO   HUNT   WITH   ROYALTY 

I  HAVE  written  in  a  previous  chapter  of  the 
Duke  Alexis'  spurs,  and  how  they  came  into 
my  possession  as  souvenirs,  and  now  I  will  give  you 
a  chapter  of  that  royal  hunt,  copying  in  full  a  letter 
written  by  me  for  the  Leavenworth  Times  January 
13,  1872.  Of  course,  as  you  read  on  you  will  see 
that  this  was  written  before  the  hunt  proper,  but 
the  anticipation  proved  true  almost  to  the  letter. 

But  here  it  is: 

North  Platte,  Neb.,  Jan.  13,  1872. —Young 
Alexis,  the  Grand  Duke  of  Russia,  is  now  happy 


182  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

out  here  on  the  almost  boundless  plains  of  the  West. 
He  is  far  away  from  the  gaping  citizens  and  the 
gaze  of  the  inquisitive  dignitaries.  For  several  days 
he  will  enjoy  this  pleasant  seclusion  and  indulge  in 
the  unrestrained  sport  of  hunting  and  slaying  the 
noble  buffalo  in  untold  numbers.  There  are  no  phi- 
lanthropic Berghs  here  to  molest  him  or  make  him 
afraid,  and  he  is  neither  taunted  nor  alarmed  with 
terrors  or  threats  of  prosecution. 

In  company  with  the  suite,  the  Duke  arrived  here 
on  his  special  train  at  six  o'clock  this  morning,  ac- 
companied by  General  Sheridan  and  staff  who  took 
a  run  up  as  far  as  Omaha  yesterday  to  meet  the 
Imperial  party.  The  time  from  three  o'clock  yes- 
terday afternoon  until  this  morning  was  spent  on 
the  rail  between  here  and  the  eastern  terminus  of 
the  Union  Pacific,  but,  with  the  genial  and  festive 
Phil  Sheridan  aboard,  the  moments  were  not  dull. 

A  most  superb  banquet  was  prepared  on  the  train, 
and  the  representatives  of  the  Imperial  navy  and 
the  United  States  army  had  a  lively  and  agreeable 
time  of  it  as  the  Pullman  cars  were  hurled  across 
the  plains. 

It  was  long  after  midnight  before  the  company 
sought  rest  in  the  luxurious  sleeping  coaches,  but 
they  arose,  nevertheless,  bright  and  early  this  morn- 
ing, each  and  every  one  anxious  for  the  journey 
to  the  hunting  ground  which  Sheridan  selected.  The 
three  or  four  hundred  inhabitants  who  form  the 
settlement  were  all  out  in  the  gray  twilight  of  morn- 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  183 

ing  to  see  and  welcome  the  Imperial  visitor.  The 
reception,  however,  was  unlike  those  which  the  peo- 
ple of  the  East  or  Central  West  had  awarded. 
There  was  no  crowding,  no  cheers,  no  excitement, 
but  a  sort  of  reverential  curiosity* 

As  the  Duke  alighted  from  the  train,  the  rustic 
natives  of  North  Platte  stood  in  line  along  the  plat- 
form and  almost  as  involuntarily  as  simultaneously 
removed  their  hats  in  honor  of  the  distinguished 
visitor.  "Little  Phil"  was  master  of  ceremonies  and 
he  was  bound  that  not  a  moment  should  be  lost  in 
starting  for  the  camp  fifty  miles  distant. 

He  had  arranged  with  genial  and  daring  "Buf- 
falo Bill"  to  be  on  hand  and  act  as  guide  and  the 
renowned  scout  was  promptly  on  hand  in  all  his 
elements.  He  was  seated  on  a  spanking  charger 
and  with  his  long  hair  and  spangled  buckskin  suit, 
he  appeared  as  the  feared  and  beloved  by  all  for 
miles  around.  White  men  and  barbarous  Indians 
are  alike  moved  by  his  presence  and  none  of  them 
dare  to  do  aught  a  word  or  deed  contrary  to  the 
rules  of  law  or  civilization.  After  the  ducal  party 
had  alighted,  General  Sheridan  beckoned  the  no- 
torious Bill  to  approach.  He  advanced  carelessly, 
yet  respectfully.  "Your  Highness,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, "this  is  Mr.  Cody,  otherwise  and  universally 
known  as  'Buffalo  Bill.'  'Bill,  this  is  the  Grand 
Duke."  "I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  hero  of 
the  plains,  "you  have  come  out  here,  so  the  Gen- 
eral tells  me,  to  shoot  some  buffalo."  "Yes,"  an- 
swered Alexis,  "and  I  hope  to  have  a  fine  time.     I 


184  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

have  heard  of  you  before,  and  I  am  glad  to  meet 
you  here."  "Thank  you,"  said  Bill,  with  a  smile 
as  honest  and  sweet  as  that  of  a  lovesick  maiden. 
"If  the  weather  holds  good,  we'll  have  one  of  the 
finest  hunts  that  there  ever  was  on  this  continent." 

At  this  moment,  Dr.  Coudin,  of  the  Duke's  suite, 
stepped  up  to  Bill  and  mentioned  a  word  or  two 
about  his  rig-out.  "Do  you  always  dress  this  way?" 
asked  the  doctor.  "No,  sir,  not  much.  I  got  this 
suit  particularly  for  this  occasion.  When  Sheridan 
told  me  the  Duke  was  coming,  I  thought  I  would 
throw  myself  in  these  clothes.  I  only  put  this  rig 
on  this  morning,  and  half  the  people  in  the  settle- 
ment are  accusing  me  of  putting  on  airs."  Then 
Bill  laughed  heartily,  as  did  the  doctor,  the  Duke 
and  the  whole  Imperial  crowd. 

A  wholesome  and  substantial  breakfast  had  been 
partaken  of  on  the  train  and  there  was  nothing 
now  to  be  done  but  bundle  into  the  ambulance  wag- 
ons and  start  out  for  the  camping  grounds.  There 
were  a  half  dozen  ambulances  and  a  single  baggage 
wagon  provided  for  the  party  and  their  baggage. 
General  Sheridan,  the  genial  and  energetic  Thomp- 
son, the  transportation  master,  and  the  accommo- 
dating Buffalo  Bill  superintended  the  loading  and 
departure.  The  Duke  and  General  Sheridan  were 
provided  with  a  vehicle  a  trifle  superior  to  the  ordi- 
nary ambulance  and  it  was  drawn  by  four  very 
nobby  steeds,  while  the  other  conveyances  were  pro- 
pelled by  mule  power.     Besides  the  Duke  and  his 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  185 

suite  and  General  Sheridan,  there  were  several  offi- 
cers of  the  General's  staff,  consisting  of  Lieut.-Col. 
James  N.  Forsythe,  Lieut.  S.  A.  Forsythe,  Col.  M. 
Sheridan,  Assistant  Surgeon  M.  V.  Ash,  Major 
Sweitzer,  Col.  Palmer  of  the  second  cavalry,  Gen- 
eral Custer  of  the  seventh  and  Lieut.  Hayes  of  the 
fifth  cavalry. 

The  military  gentlemen  were  mixed  up  in  agree- 
able numbers  with  the  Russian  visitors  in  the  sev- 
eral ambulances  and,  as  they  passed  through  the 
country  the  former  entertained  them  with  some 
thrilling  reminiscences  of  their  life  and  encounter 
on  the  plains.  The  supple  and  attentive  Bill  was 
in  the  saddle  in  advance  of  all  and,  on  either  side 
of  the  ducal  vehicle,  were  a  half  dozen  mounted 
cavalry  officers.  At  exactly  quarter  past  eight,  Gen- 
eral Sheridan  gave  the  word  to  move  and  Buffalo 
Bill  advanced  in  a  galloping  lead,  closely  followed 
by  the  Duke's  and  other  conveyances.  The  weather 
at  the  moment  of  departure  was  far  from  promising ; 
the  air  seemed  to  be  full  of  snow  and  every  element 
indicated  one  of  the  storms  for  which  the  vast  plains 
are  noted.  All  felt  it  possible  and  probable  that  a 
storm  would  burst  upon  them,  but  not  a  man  dared 
utter  a  word  of  fear  and  thus  they  left  the  rail- 
road station  for  the  fifty-mile  ride  into  the  interior 
of  the  country.  Before  they  were  an  hour  on  the 
road,  the  flakes  began  falling  in  abundance  and  all 
anticipation  of  a  few  days'  sport  were  mingled  with 
despair.  The  Deity  smiled  in  approving  humor, 
for  in  a  few  short  moments  the  murkv  clouds  broke 


186  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

away  and  the  snowflakes  restrained  themselves,  and 
in  an  instant,  as  if  by  magic  or  legerdemain,  the 
orb  of  day  shone  out  in  all  its  brilliancy.  The 
effulgence  was  not  temporary,  but  lasted  all  day 
long,  and  many  grateful  hearts  expressed  thanks 
for  the  happy  combination  that  goes  to  make  up  the 
weather. 

A  couple  of  miles  from  North  Platte  station,  the 
tourists  and  hunters  were  met  by  a  company  of  the 
second  cavalry  which  acted  as  escort  to  the  hunting 
ground,  under  command  of  Gen.  Palmer,  com- 
mander of  the  forces  of  Omaha.  No  delay  was  per- 
mitted here  —  simply  a  salute  of  honor  —  and  the 
journey  was  resumed.  Red  Willow  Creek,  the 
camping  ground  and  general  rendezvous  was  reached 
after  about  eight  hours'  ride.  There  were  no  inci- 
dents of  any  moment  along  the  route.  A  few  stray 
buffalo  were  seen  and  his  Imperial  Highness  brought 
down  and  wounded  a  few  of  them.  A  few  Sioux 
Indians  were  met,  but  they  were  full  of  joy  and 
enthusiasm,  and  the  Duke  kindly  acknowledged 
their  demonstrations. 

Upon  arrival  at  camp,  everything  was  found  in 
the  most  comfortable  order  and  General  Sheridan 
at  once  assigned  the  several  guests  to  their  various 
tents  and  apartments.  The  quarters  of  the  Duke 
and  General  Sheridan  and  their  friends  consisted 
of  two  hospital  and  two  wall  tents.  Those  of  the 
guests  and  host  are  elegantly  carpeted  and  the  oth- 
ers are  furnished  with  a  degree  of  comfort  and  ele- 
gance rarely  found  out  here  on  the  wild  plains  of 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  187 

Nebraska.  For  the  attendants  of  the  Ducal  party 
and  the  military  escort,  there  are  some  thirty  or 
forty  superior  wall  tents.  The  arrangements  of  the 
camp  in  brief  are  complete,  not  to  say  luxurious, 
when  the  bleak  season  and  the  remote  and  wild  sec- 
tion of  the  country  are  considered. 

Beside  the  cavalry  escort,  there  are  two  mounted 
companies  here  to  guard  the  Imperial  tourist  and 
sportsman  from  the  wrath  and  revenge  of  the  nu- 
merous Sioux  Indians  who  abound.  The  chances 
are,  however,  that  the  Reds  will  unite  in  rendering 
the  Duke's  visit  one  of  pleasure,  rather  than  one  of 
harm  or  fear.  Sheridan  and  Buffalo  Bill  have  per- 
suaded them  to  such  a  course,  and  furthermore,  to 
procure  their  good  behavior,  the  General  has  brought 
out  twenty  wagon  loads  of  provisions  and  supplies 
which  he  has  promised  to  distribute  impartially 
among  the  red  men  at  the  end  of  the  hunt,  if  they 
restrain  themselves. 

This,  perhaps,  may  be  considered  a  questionable 
way  to  secure  a  foreign  guest  from  scalping  or  mur- 
der while  in  the  United  States,  but  when  it  is  known 
that  the  Indians  are  armed  and  outnumber  the 
soldiers  ten  to  one,  it  will  be  admitted  that  Sheri- 
dan's "Tickle  me  and  I'll  tickle  you"  policy  is  the 
only  safe  one  to  pursue. 

Tomorrow,  the  Sabbath,  will  be  duly  respected, 
but  on  Monday,  if  there  are  no  accidents,  the  sport 
will  begin.  The  Sioux  Indians  from  miles  and  miles 
around  are  expected  to  assemble  to  meet  the  Duke 
in  the  morning.     Old   Spotted  Tail,  the  chief,  is 


188  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

already  on  hand.  Also  the  minor  chiefs,  known  as 
Two  Strikes,  Cut  Leg,  White  Bear,  White  Leg, 
and  about  1,300  of  the  tribe  will  be  present.  The 
day  will  then  be  taken  up  by  what  is  known  as  a 
grand  roundup  of  the  buffalo,  which  will  consist  of 
the  surrounding  of  a  vast  tract  of  country  by  the 
1,300  warriors  and  a  gradual  closing  in  of  the  game. 

The  Ducal  party  will,  of  course,  take  a  lively  part 
in  this.  On  Tuesday,  Alexis,  Phil  Sheridan  and 
their  friends  will  have  a  hunt  on  their  own  ac- 
count, aided,  of  course,  by  Spotted  Tail  and  Buffalo 
Bill,  and  on  Wednesday  there  will  be  a  high  old 
Indian  pow-wow  and  war  dance  in  which  2,000  or 
more  Sioux  will  participate.  Thursday  will,  in  all 
probability,  end  the  sport  and  the  closing  festivities 
will  be  very  interesting.  First,  the  best  of  the  In- 
dians will  gobble  what  buffalo  they  can  in  their 
native  way  in  the  presence  of  the  Russian  Duke. 
After  all  this  is  over,  and  if  there  has  been  no  overt 
act  and  no  Russian  scalps  are  missing,  the  twenty 
wagon  loads  of  provisions  will  be  faithfully  dis- 
tributed and  the  Duke  will  be  escorted  to  the  Pull- 
man hotel  train  on  the  Union  Pacific  road. 


^fcV'*-^  z 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Thirty-second  "Pow-Wow" 

DOWN  TO  BRASS  TACKS 

1SAID  at  the  beginning  of  these  sketches  that  I 
would  pay  no  attention  to  dates  or  figures.  That, 
I  thought,  was  a  safe  proposition,  for  I  am  so  poor 
with  figures  that  I  actually  don't  know  a  good  fig- 
ure when  I  see  one,  be  it  man,  woman,  or  figure  of 
speech.  To  acknowledge  to  you  on  the  quiet,  I 
juggle  figures  so  badly  that  Mr.  Smith,  my  banker, 
has  to  telephone  to  me  for  red  ink  to  balance  my 
account,  and  I  guess  it's  blushing  for  me  even  as 
I  pen  these  lines. 

But  to  get  down  to  figures,  just  a  few  facts  in 
paragraphs  to  even  up  the  errors  in  age  and  date 
of  several  of  the  foregoing  sketches,  which  were 
printed  as  fast  as  written: 

In  his  eleventh  year,  Billy  Cody  was  on  the  plains 
scouting  and  herding  for  Russell,  Majors  and  Wad- 
dell,  and  the  train  was  captured,  and  the  wagons 
burned  by  the  notorious  Lot  Smith,  the  Mormon 
Danite  chief,  one  hundred  miles  east  of  Salt  Lake, 
and  Billy,  with  others  who  escaped  the  massacre, 
footed  it  back  to  Leavenworth,  making  a  trip   of 

189 


190  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

over  1,000  miles.  "This  hike,"  says  the  Colonel, 
"broke  me  of  walking."  But  of  this,  more  fur- 
ther on. 

And  again,  before  he  was  19,  he  was  riding  pony- 
express,  that  great  opening  of  mail  communication 
across  the  vast  plains,  and  still  before  that,  when 
but  16  years  old,  he  was  wagon  master  in  charge  of 
one  of  those  long  trains  of  prairie  schooners. 

In  his  nineteenth  year,  he  was  made  Chief  of 
Scouts  of  the  U.  S.  and  guide  by  General  Sherman, 
who  recognized  in  the  boy  the  mettle  and  courage 
of  a  western  plainsman. 

Had  I  kept  on  at  this  rate,  I  would  have  had 
Col.  Cody  in  the  Methusela  class,  or  helping  George 
Washington  cut  down  the  cherry  tree.  Confound 
these  figures  anyhow.  But  at  that,  in  those  days 
a  whole  lot  of  excitement  could  be  crowded  into  a 
short  space  of  time.  As  I  look  back  upon  it  through 
the  haze  of  half  a  century,  things  merge  one  into 
another,  and  while  I  recall  names  and  places  long 
forgotten,  I  cannot  always  confine  events  to  their 
proper  time.  It  is  just  as  I  told  you  in  the  be- 
ginning, I  shall  not  be  accurate  as  to  dates,  but  the 
various  sketches  are  true  to  the  letter. 

Right  here,  before  I  forget  it,  I  want  to  say  that 
the  worst  massacres  of  the  plains  were  incited  by 
outlaw  white  men,  far  lower  in  the  scale  of  human 
degradation  than  the  Indians  whom  they  used  as 
tools.  Cody  one  time  made  the  remark  that  civ- 
ilization would  have  been  greatly  facilitated  had  the 


THE  WORLDS  GREATEST  SCOUT  191 

white  outlaws  been  captured  and  shot  wherever 
found.  Cody  knew  the  Indian,  and  with  all  his 
trying  experience  with  the  red  man,  I  do  not  believe 
there  is  a  white  man  who  walks  the  earth  today  who 
has  a  greater  respect  for  our  red  brother  than  Buf- 
falo Bill.  On  the  other  hand,  I  don't  believe  there 
ever  rode  the  plains  a  single  man  whom  the  In- 
dians feared  and  respected  as  they  did  this  long- 
haired avenger  of  blood  or  dispenser  of  mercy.  His 
word  was  good  with  the  red  man.  He  never  lied 
to  them  or  deceived  them.  They  well  knew  that  if 
he  swung  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  an  Indian  was 
going  to  bite  the  dust.  He  was  a  dead  shot,  and 
never  pulled  his  gun  until  he  was  within  range.  He 
knew  his  gun  and  knew  his  sight. 

Buffalo  Bill  was  a  constant  menace  to  the  white 
outlaws,  and  they  were  constantly  looking  for  an 
opportunity  to  kill  him.    He  was  in  their  way. 

But  I  started  this  chapter  to  talk  about  figures, 
and  I  have  done  so,  and  have  rambled  away,  touch- 
ing lightly  on  several  subjects,  each  of  which  would 
make  a  book. 

So  I'll  start  again  in  my  rambling  way  regardless 
of  dates  until,  mayhap,  I  get  myself  into  another 
tangle. 

Thirty-third  "Pow-Wow" 

THE  PIPE  OF  PEACE 

FEW  and   far  between   are   the   genuine   peace 
pipes.    Many  today  are  sold  as  souvenirs  by  un- 
scrupulous Indian  traders,  but  they  are  the  handi- 


192  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

work  of  the  white  man.  If  all  the  alleged  peace 
pipes  in  the  curio  market  today,  or  bought  by  igno- 
rant souvenir  collectors,  were  genuine,  they  would 
represent  the  death  of  many  a  human  being,  red 
or  white. 

A  genuine  peace  pipe  must  have  a  history  —  a 
pre-natal  history.  Before  it  was  fashioned  into  a 
pipe  of  peace,  it  must  have  been  in  part  an  instru- 
ment of  war  —  of  death.  The  long,  harmless  look- 
ing hickory  stem  must  have  at  one  time  been  a  bow 
in  the  hands  of  an  Indian  brave,  and  of  the  tribe 
for  which  the  peace  pipe  is  designed.  It  must  have 
sent  a  death-dealing  arrow  to  the  heart  of  an  enemy. 

The  bow  thus  honored  is  placed  into  the  hands 
of  an  Indian  girl  —  unmarried,  and  preferably  the 
daughter  of  a  chief.  To  her  is  intrusted  the  honor 
(for  it  is  so  regarded)  of  making  the  tribal  peace 
pipe.  The  hickory  is  burned  through  from  end  to 
end  for  the  stem.  This  is  a  delicate  and  slow 
process. 

The  bow  is  cut  to  the  proper  length  and  polished 
—  not  with  sand  paper,  but  by  scraping  and  buffing 
with  buffalo  hide  until  it  is  smooth  as  agate. 

The  bowl  is  deftly  moulded  and  hewn  from  pipe 
clay,  found  in  the  hills  and  water  courses  of  the 
mountains.  It  is  brought  to  a  high  polish  by  con- 
stant rubbing  with  buffalo  skin.  All  is  hand  work, 
and  the  work  only  of  the  chieftain's  unmarried 
daughter. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  193 

The  tobacco  bag  is  made  of  buffalo  skin  tanned 
by  the  Indian  maiden,  the  buffalo  having  been  killed 
by  a  buck  of  the  tribe.  The  artistic  bead  work  is 
done  by  the  same  Indian  girl. 

It  is  profusely  decorated  with  beads  fashioned  in 
the  pattern  best  known  to  that  particular  tribe.  The 
tribal  Peace  Pipe  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  treas- 
ures of  the  Indian.  It  represents  the  honor  and 
esteem  of  his  tribe  and  woven  into  its  manufacture 
it  tells  the  love  of  his  daughter  or  the  loyalty  and 
esteem  of  an  Indian  maiden.  It  is  the  type  of 
friendship.  Its  language  is  the  death  of  enemies 
and  the  survival  of  friends.  The  bestowal  of  a 
Peace  Pipe  means  a  pledge  of  friendship,  and  rarely 
during  the  life  of  a  chief  does  the  Peace  Pipe  change 
hands.     It  means  much. 

Many  years  ago,  a  Peace  Pipe  changed  hands 
and  perhaps  this  is  the  only  time  in  history  where 
an  Indian  has  given  it  to  a  white  man. 

As  I  write  these  lines  I  am  smoking  that  his- 
torical pipe.  I  am  all  alone,  but  as  I  follow  the 
convolutions  of  smoke,  I  see  fashioned  faces  of  long 
ago.  I  see  the  wigwams  of  the  red  men,  as  they 
dot  the  prairie.  I  see  herds  of  their  ponies  grazing 
here  and  there  in  bunches,  far,  far  beyond  where 
prairie  and  sky  meet.  I  see  a  bounding  herd  of 
buffalo,  bound  for  a  water  course,  around  me  the 
soft  wind  billows  the  tall  prairie  grass,  and  chants 
the  vesper  song  to  the  Great  Spirit.  Here  again 
is  the  face  of  Mi-lo-Ka-ha,  the  daughter  of  the  chief, 


194  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

her  long  raven  locks  reaching  far  below  her  beaded 
belt,  caught  back  by  a  thong  or  band  of  deer  skin 
beaded  and  colored  with  the  crimson  juice  of  the 
red  plant  known  to  us  as  Indian  paint.  The  smoke 
wreath  forms  other  shapes  and  out  of  the  cloud 
looks  down  on  me  the  face  of  my  friend,  "Pahaska." 
Yes,  in  these  wreaths  of  smoke  —  dream  smoke,  I 
find  my  friend,  Buffalo  Bill. 

It  is  the  spirit  of  the  gift.  It  is  the  procession 
of  those  who  have  had  to  do  with  this  Pipe  of  Peace. 
Now  the  smoke  wreaths  are  joined;  they  form  an- 
other face  —  a  body  —  a  stalwart  chief,  though  aged 
as  we  count  years;  lithe,  straight,  sinewy,  but  with 
a  kindly  face.  I  note  the  smile  of  the  great  Red 
Cloud,  the  friend  of  Buffalo  Bill. 

I  have  told  before  what  the  transfer  of  a  Peace 
Pipe  means.  It  is  to  his  best  friend,  the  great 
chieftain  gave  this  pipe,  and  to  "Pahaska,"  Buffalo 
Bill,  it  was  given  —  a  lasting  treaty  of  peace  be- 
tween the  two.  The  grand  old  chief  did  not  live 
long  after,  but  it  was  his  satisfaction  to  have  re- 
membered his  white  friend  and  ally  before  he  passed 
to  the  happy  hunting  ground  and  the  death  song 
was  chanted  by  his  tribe. 

How  did  I  get  it? 

Listen. 

At  10  o'clock,  August  4,  1911,  when  Buffalo  Bill 
was  in  Clinton  with  his  great  show  on  his  farewell 
tour,  he  came  to  my  office  and  sat  at  my  desk  just 
where  I  am  sitting  as  I  write  this. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  195 

His  eye  was  as  clear  and  piercing  as  in  the 
halcyon  days  of  yore  when  we  were  boy  pards,  his 
hand  as  steady  as  when  he  pulled  the  trigger  for 
a  shot  which  told. 

"Pard,"  said  he,  "we're  getting  pretty  well  along 
in  years.  We  have  lived  in  times  when  history  was 
made.  Where  the  boys  of  the  West  rode  at  will 
on  their  ponies,  big  farms  and  wire  fences  have 
found  place,  and  the  long  dreary  cattle  trails  to  the 
setting  sun  have  given  way  to  the  bands  of  steel 
and  the  iron  horses.  Well,  pard,  we  have  the  sat- 
isfaction that  we  were  there  first.  But  we're  getting 
old  —  we  must  soon  cross  the  great  divide. 

"You  know  the  meaning  of  the  Peace  Pipe.  You 
know  how  much  it  indicates  when  given  to  a  friend. 
You  realize  its  full  meaning?    Of  course  you  do. 

"We  have  been  'pards'  for  over  a  half  century 
and  we  have  never  lessened  our  friendship.  It  is 
as  warm  today  as  then.  Time  or  distance  has  not 
dimmed  it.  And  now,  pard,"  said  he,  as  he  unrolled 
a  paper,  "let's  be  Indians." 

And  he  handed  me  the  Peace  Pipe  and  tobacco 
pouch. 

Time  may  use  me  roughly.  I  may  even  be  hun- 
gry, but  so  long  as  I  live  I  will  retain  that  memento 
of  my  friend,  which,  in  the  language  and  legend  of 
our  red  brother,  means  so  much. 


196  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Thirty -fourth  "Pow-Wow" 

A   REAL    INDIAN    FIGHT 

IN  my  stories  of  western  history,  I  have  frequently 
referred  to  the  massacre  at  Julesburg,  but  have 
never  yet  given  my  memories  of  that  disastrous 
battle. 

We  often  hear  people  in  describing  disasters  of 
this  kind,  paint  themselves  as  heroes  and  with  a 
bravado,  born  only  of  imagination,  say  that  they 
were  entirely  unafraid. 

I  believe  they  are  all  liars. 

We  were  camped  a  few  miles  out  of  Julesburg. 
There  were  exactly  156  men,  counting  the  soldier 
escort,  in  our  train.  When  we  looked  to  the  north 
of  us  and  saw  the  flames  of  burning  buildings  and 
heard  the  rattle  of  guns,  we  knew  the  Cheyennes 
were  on  the  warpath.  Hastily  every  man  mounted 
the  first  horse  or  mule  that  was  handy,  and  flew  to 
the  relief  of  the  citizens  of  Julesburg. 

Through  common  consent,  W.  F.  Cody  (Buffalo 
Bill)  was  our  leader.  He  rode  a  wheel  mule  with 
no  saddle  and  only  a  blind  bridle.  I  rode  another, 
equipped  in  the  same  manner. 

I  have  said  above,  in  this  article,  that  all  men 
were  liars,  or  were  afraid  when  entering  a  battle. 
I  have  never  heard  Buffalo  Bill  brag  of  his  bravery, 
but  I  have  seen  him  in  action,  and  I  believe  that 
he  was  born  without  the  attribute  of  fear,  the  same 
as  a  man  is  born  with  a  club  foot.  Be  that  as  it 
may,  I  could  not  at  the  time  discover  a  tremor  of 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  197 

fear  in  Cody,  while  I  was  so  badly  frightened  that 
I  could  not  even  say,  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to 
sleep."  We  rode  on  the  dead  run  to  Julesburg,  and 
there  we  encountered  the  Indians  in  the  midst  of 
their  massacre. 

The  mode  of  Indian  fighting  is  to  ride  in  a  circle 
around  their  victims,  drawing  closer,  ever  closer,  and 
firing  as  they  rode. 

We  attacked  this  circle  from  the  outside  and 
turned  firing  our  way,  but,  before  we  reached  them 
their  work  was  nearly  done  and  many  white  men, 
women,  and  children  lay  where  they  had  fallen, 
pierced  by  an  arrow  or  a  bullet.  The  fatalities, 
most  of  them,  were  produced  by  the  arrows,  as  the 
Indians  at  that  time  were  better  shots  with  the  bow 
than  with  the  rifle. 

It  was  tough  fighting  for  about  half  an  hour,  and 
we  lost  two  of  our  number,  who  were  buried  at 
Julesburg,  together  with  the  many  citizens  of  the 
town,  who  had  paid  the  penalty  of  pioneering. 

There  were  thirty-five  Indians  killed  out  of  a 
possible  two  hundred  engaged  in  the  fray. 

Our  train,  which  was  an  emigrant  train,  composed 
of  families,  did  not  move  for  two  days,  but  pulled 
up  into  Julesburg.  The  men  and  women  of  the 
train  assisted  in  burying  the  dead  and  caring  for 
the  wounded. 

The  soldiers  of  our  escort  followed  the  Indians 
and  dropped  four  of  them  before  they  gave  up  the 
chase. 


198  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Thirty -fifth  "Pow-Wow" 

WALT  SINCLAIR 

SPEAKING  of  the  massacre  at  Julesburg,  the 
face  of  that  brave,  and  I  am  tempted  to  say, 
reckless  Indian  fighter,  Walt  Sinclair,  appears  be- 
fore me.  Now  Walt  was  not  fortunate  enough  to 
get  in  the  limelight,  but  he,  like  many  another  plains- 
man, was  instrumental  in  helping  the  march  of  civ- 
ilization westward.  Walt  was  five  years  older  than 
I.  He  was  born  at  Leavenworth,  Kansas,  in  the 
days  of  the  struggle  between  the  free  state  men  and 
the  pro-slavery  men.  Kansas  at  that  time  was  a 
territory  just  knocking  at  the  doors  of  the  gov- 
ernment for  admission  as  a  state.  Walt  was  brought 
up,  as  were  all  western  boys  at  that  time,  to  the 
use  of  firearms,  and  every  boy  "toted  a  gun."  Those 
were  the  days  of  the  little  brass  barreled  single 
shot  pistols  and  the  old  Allen  pepper  box  of  five 
barrels  —  the  great  grandfather  of  the  present  au- 
tomatic pistol  and  the  machine  gun.  Walt  became 
a  crack  shot,  above  the  average,  and  in  many  feats 
of  firearms  he  excelled  us  all.  He  could  hit  nearer 
the  center  than  either  Wild  Bill  or  Buffalo  Bill, 
though  both  were  dead  shots.  I,  myself,  have  sat 
on  a  fence  and  held  an  apple  in  my  hand  while 
Buffalo  Bill  and  Walt  Sinclair  would  ride  by,  draw 
their  revolvers  and  shoot  through  the  apple  and  I 
never  was  wounded  or  even  felt  the  effects  of  the 
ball  as  it  cored  the  apple.  Those  were  the  days 
of  reckless  childhood.  Believe  me,  I  would  not  do 
it  today. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  199 

An  incident  in  the  life  of  Walt  Sinclair  would 
not  come  amiss  at  this  time.  There  was  a  gang  of 
outlaws  headed  by  Weston  Red  from  Weston,  Mis- 
souri, who  would  frequently  come  across  the  river  to 
Leavenworth  to  shoot  up  the  town.  The  fame  of 
Walt  Sinclair  as  a  crack  shot,  and  a  quick  shot,  had 
gone  abroad,  and  one  time  a  gang  of  four  went  into 
Paul  Dexter's  saloon  and  were  busy  shooting  the 
fixtures  off  the  back  bar,  when  Walt  Sinclair 
stepped  in  and  captured  them  all  without  drawing 
a  gun.  They  knew  he  could  pull  and  shoot  quicker 
than  they  could,  and  that  an  extra  move  on  their 
part  spelled  their  death  warrant.  He  made  them 
lay  their  guns  on  the  bar  and  marched  them  up  to 
the  market  house,  which  was  also  the  jail  and  de- 
livered them  over  to  Matt  Malone,  the  one  police- 
man of  the  town. 

Walt  led  a  charmed  life,  for  although  he  killed 
many  outlaws  and  Indians,  I  have  never  heard  that 
he  got  a  scratch. 

In  the  battle  of  Wounded  Knee,  those  who  saw 
Walt  Sinclair  in  action,  place  to  his  credit  from 
five  to  a  dozen  dead  Indians,  and  Colonel  Boggs 
tells  me  that  he  doesn't  know  how  Walt  got  away 
with  his  life. 

Digressing  somewhat,  and  going  back  to  the  days 
of  the  Civil  War,  Walt  Sinclair,  unaided  and  alone, 
drove  the  outpost  of  Mosby's  guerrillas  at  Carthage, 
Missouri,  into  the  camp  of  the  principal  body.  Walt, 
seeing  what  was  before  him,  turned  tail  and  gal- 


200  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

loped  into  Carthage  where  the  Union  troops  were 
camped.  As  we  discovered  afterwards,  when  a  com- 
pany of  soldiers  guided  by  Walt,  went  over  the 
ground,  he  had  killed  two  of  the  rebels  and  press- 
ing on  further,  we  found  that  the  entire  guerrilla 
company  had  broke  camp  and  vanished.  Darkness 
coming  on,  and  the  brush  and  timber  being  so  thick, 
we  did  not  deem  it  safe  to  follow  them  up,  so  turned 
back  to  Carthage. 

Walt  Sinclair  died  somewhere  in  Arkansas  about 
a  year  after  the  death  of  Buffalo  Bill  in  Denver. 
Where  he  is  buried  or  whether  his  brothers,  George 
and  Lon,  are  still  alive,  I  do  not  know,  but  if  they 
are  and  this  catches  their  eye,  they  will  write  to  me 
pronto. 


---«^*3aLS^£aJ»^-JSfe 


CHAPTER  XV 

Thirty-sixth  "Pow-Wow" 

AN   INDIAN   ROMANCE 

"f  1  ^ELL  us  a  story,  Uncle  Dan,"  said  Frances, 
A  a  little  miss   of  ten   or  eleven  years,   as   she, 
with  two  other  girls  were   looking   for  their  bed- 
time story. 

Well,  as  you  are  girls,  I  will  give  you  as  near  as 
I  can  remember  the  love  story  of  Stolen- Arrow 
and  Yellow-Flower.  Both  were  members  of  the 
Sac  tribe,  and  each,  in  their  Indian  way,  loved  the 
other.  Indians,  as  a  rule,  do  not  make  as  much 
display  as  the  lovers  of  today,  and  while  they  are 
recognized  as  lovers,  there  is  a  quietness  and  secrecy 
about  it  all  which  is  respected  by  the  members  of 
the  tribe.  Long  walks  they  would  take  together, 
the  squaw  always  a  step  or  two  in  the  rear.  If 
they  were  taking  any  bundles  or  lunch  with  them, 
the  squaw  carried  the  load,  showing  the  main  thing 
of  Indian  lovers,  service  to  her  master.  The  buck 
or  male  Indians  never  did  any  work  and  carried 
only  their  bow  and  arrows. 

The  females  or  squaws  did  all  the  work,  such  as 
setting  up  the  tepees,  gathering  the  firewood  or 
Buffalo  chips,  making  fires  and  cooking  the  victuals. 

201 


202       ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

This  romance,  however,  had  not  all  to  do  with 
slavery  on  the  part  of  Yellow-Flower.  On  the  con- 
trary, the  pair  would  take  long  rides  in  their  canoe 
on  the  swift  running,  but  shallow,  Kaw  river. 

How  many  love  words  passed  between  the  couple, 
I  have  no  means  of  knowing,  but  in  some  way  I  am 
convinced  they  told  their  love  while  floating  on  the 
bosom  of  the  Kaw. 

Pure  bred  Indian  girls,  as  a  rule,  are  not  good 
looking,  but  Yellow-Flower,  as  I  recall  her,  was 
in  looks  far  above  the  average  of  Indian  maidens, 
and  when  she  smiled  on  Stolen- Arrow  she  spoke 
volumes  and,  as  her  face  lighted  up,  Stolen- Arrow 
was  sure  of  his  conquest. 

Long  before  they  were  married  she  made  his  ar- 
rows, his  beautifully  beaded  moccasins,  and  the 
quiver  wherein  he  carried  his  arrows.  He  not  being 
a  chief,  nor  she  the  daughter  of  a  chief,  it  was  not 
her  right  or  privilege  to  make  a  peace  pipe  or  to- 
bacco bag  which  goes  with  it.  She  did  make  him, 
however,  of  feathers  and  beads,  as  handsome  a  war 
bonnet  as  I  ever  saw,  and  tanned  for  him  many 
beautiful  buffalo  robes. 

The  parents  of  each,  who  were  just  ordinary 
members  of  the  tribe,  were  not  averse  to  the  union 
of  these  two  young  people.  Their  love  story  seemed 
to  run  smooth  until  the  arrival  on  the  scene  of  a 
Fox  Indian  named  Johnny  Marsh.  No,  he  was 
not  a  villain,  but  a  would-be  rival  for  the  hand  of 
Yellow-Flower.     He  had  many  more  horses  which 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  203 

were  the  Indian  coin  of  the  realm,  than  had  Stol en- 
Arrow,  but  that  seemed  to  make  no  difference  with 
the  Indian  girl.  The  men,  former  friends,  seemed 
to  drop  away  from  each  other,  and  as  jealousy  is  a 
part  of  the  Indian  makeup,  as  of  all  human  nature, 
this  coolness  developed  into  enmity  and  on  two  oc- 
casions at  least,  the  men  clashed.  Once  they  were 
separated  before  any  damage  had  been  done,  and 
another  time  with  scalping,  or  hunting  knives,  they 
cut  each  other  pretty  badly  before  they  were  sepa- 
rated. This  promised  to  be  a  fight  to  the  death, 
but  they  were  parted  before  any  serious  injury  had 
been  done. 

Stolen- Arrow  was  taken  care  of  in  the  tepee  of 
the  girl's  parents  and  nursed  back  to  normalcy  by 
the  girl  herself,  though  his  parents  and  he,  himself, 
had  tepees  in  the  camp.  Soon  after  he  got  around, 
he  brought  his  three  horses  to  the  tent  of  her  par- 
ents and  they  were  accepted  as  a  wedding  present. 
The  marriage  was  solemnized  by  Father  Carey,  a 
Catholic  priest  from  the  Osage  mission,  south  of 
Leavenworth,  Kansas. 

Shortly  after  this  marriage,  the  two  tribes,  Sac 
and  Fox,  were  consolidated,  going  under  the  name 
as  they  are  to  this  day,  the  "Sac  and  Fox"  tribe. 

The  rivals  again  became  friends  and  about  a  year 
afterwards  Johnny  Marsh  married  a  Sioux  girl,  a 
sister  of  Long-Bow,  who  afterwards  became  Chief 
Red-Cloud. 


204  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Stolen- Arrow  had  two  children,  the  last  I  heard 
of  him,  but  whether  boys  or  girls,  I  do  not  know. 

Now,  Frances,  here  is  an  Indian  love  story.  You 
can  put  in  all  the  extra  words  you  want  and  make 
a  real  copper-colored  romance  of  it.  I  am  sure  that 
neither  Yellow-Flower  nor  Stolen- Arrow  would  ob- 
ject, because  both  are  now  in  the  happy  hunting 
ground. 

Thirty-seventh  ccPow-Wow" 

COLONEL  BOGGS 

THE  subject  of  this  sketch  is  the  last  one,  but 
the  writer  of  this,  of  the  old  Cody  bunch  of 
sharpshooters,  Indian  fighters,  scouts  and  guides  of 
the  plains,  to  answer  the  last  call. 

At  the  time  of  Buffalo  Bill's  death,  there  were 
twelve  of  us  on  top  of  ground.  Thus,  the  passing 
of  Colonel  Boggs  at  Mattoon,  111.,  leaves  the  writer 
alone,  so  far  as  the  scouts  are  concerned.  In  point 
of  years,  Colonel  Boggs  was  the  oldest  and  the 
writer  hereof  the  youngest  of  the  bunch,  Colonel 
Boggs  being  five  years  older,  and  Dan  Winget,  five 
years  younger  than  Buffalo  Bill. 

I  have  many  times  seen  Colonel  Boggs  in  action 
and  never  yet  have  seen  him  show  the  white  feather. 

One  night  in  particular  I  remember,  the  Chey- 
ennes  made  a  running  fight  on  our  camp.  It  was 
an  overnight  stop  of  an  emigrant  train  consisting 
of  families  bound  for  Pike's  Peak.  At  about  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  twenty-three  Cheyennes  and 
a  half-breed  Mexican  attacked  us  and  undertook  to 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  205 

stampede  our  animals.  Colonel  Boggs  was  riding 
night  herd,  and  before  we  had  a  chance  to  get  into 
action,  he  had  killed  three  Cheyennes  and  a  half- 
breed  Mexican.  He  was  a  dead  shot  and  a  quick 
shot.  He  could  draw  and  shoot  quicker  than  any 
man  I  ever  knew,  except  Wild  Bill  Hickok,  and  he, 
it  was  often  said,  had  the  bullet  coming  while  he 
drew  his  gun. 

On  this  occasion,  the  only  one  I  ever  knew, 
Colonel  Boggs  was  wounded  by  two  arrows  and  a 
bullet,  none  of  which  laid  him  up,  even  temporarily, 
all  being  harmless  flesh  wounds.  The  bullet  went 
through  the  fleshy  part  of  his  upper  left  arm  and 
the  arrows  closely  followed  the  bullet,  the  three 
wounds  being  between  the  elbow  and  the  shoulder 
of  the  left  arm.  The  arrows  were  broken  just  above 
the  feathered  barb,  and  pulled  through,  thus  elim- 
inating any  poison  which  might  be  in  the  feather 
end  of  the  arrow.  I  am  not  sure  that  Colonel  Boggs 
had  these  arrows  when  he  died,  but  Henry  Brown, 
who  pulled  them  out,  gave  them  to  him. 

The  Indians,  seeing  the  damage  done  by  one  man, 
withdrew  before  any  of  the  rest  of  us  had  a  chance 
to  shoot.  When  I  say  withdrew,  I  do  not  mean 
that  they  withdrew  in  good  order,  but  they  turned 
tail  and  galloped  away  into  the  darkness. 

There  was  not  much  sleeping  after  that,  and  it 
is  safe  to  say  that  we  got  an  early  start  for  the 
next  day's  journey. 


206  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

The  next  day  we  started  bright  and  early  and 
the  rising  sun  shone  upon  our  train  in  motion.  That 
was  one  time  we  had  to  go  slow,  for  in  the  train 
there  were  several  ox  teams.  At  noon  that  day  we 
saw  signs  of  Indians,  and  Buck  Taylor,  Lon  Sin- 
clair and  Buffalo  Bill  started  forward  on  horseback 
to  pick  up  the  trail.  It  was  fresh,  and  according  to 
Cody,  the  Indian  party  numbered  about  fifty  or 
sixty.  While  going  over  the  trail  to  the  north  of 
us,  we  lost  track  of  the  three  scouts  and  did  not  see 
them  again  until  that  evening,  when  we  had  made 
our  corral  on  the  banks  of  the  Cottonwood  and 
many  camp  fires  were  burning,  cooking  jack  rabbits 
and  buffalo  steak. 

Buck  Taylor  brought  in  a  war  bonnet  which 
showed  that  he  had  got  at  least  one  Indian,  but,  as 
there  was  no  bleeding  scalp  on  it,  it  is  fair  to  pre- 
sume that  he  didn't  kill  the  Indian  or  killing  him, 
he  failed  to  take  his  scalp.  The  war  bonnet,  with 
four  dry  scalps  attached,  was  given  to  Miss  Sadie 
McPherson,  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  families  of 
the  train.  Miss  McPherson,  as  I  recall  it,  was  at- 
tached to  one  of  the  families  from  Zanesville,  Ohio. 

We  had  no  more  trouble  with  the  Indians,  or 
other  mishaps,  save  that  one  day  we  were  short  on 
rations  of  water,  arriving  at  a  stream  at  about  nine 
o'clock  that  night. 

Have  you  ever  been  thirsty  and  without  means 
of   quenching   your   thirst    for   nearly   twenty-four 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  207 

hours?     If  so,  you  will  know  how  good  the  water 
in  that  running  stream  looked  and  tasted  to  us. 

The  oxen  were  the  most  frantic,  and  their  drivers 
nearly  lost  control  of  them  as  we  neared  the  water 
line.  A  few  days  more  put  us  in  Denver,  and  there 
we  separated,  some  of  the  scouts  guiding  trains  to 
the  north,  others  still  to  the  Pike's  Peak  region. 

That  was  the  last  time  I  ever  saw  Colonel  Boggs, 
though  we  have  frequently  exchanged  letters.  I 
last  heard  from  him  at  Mattoon,  111.,  when  he  invited 
me  to  go  on  one  more  big  hunt  with  him,  in  the  foot- 
hills of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  going  by  way  of 
Cody,  Wyoming,  and  being  guided  by  Cody  Boal, 
Buffalo  Bill's  grandson,  and  a  replica  of  the  old 
scout  in  his  palmy  days.  This  letter  I  answered 
last  year,  but  it  came  back  from  Mattoon  marked 
"deceased." 

By  this  I  know  that  I  am  the  last  of  the  old 
scouts. 

Thirty-eighth  "Pow-Wow" 

FRANCES 

NO,  she  was  not  an  Indian,  she  was  a  wandering 
white  woman,  abused  and  driven  from  her  home 
by  her  Mexican  half-breed  husband.  I  first  met 
her  when  she  came  to  a  camp  of  Sac  and  Fox  tribe, 
where  I  was  spending  a  few  days.  Both  her  eyes 
were  black  from  the  beating  her  husband  had  given 
her,  great  welts  lay  across  her  arms  and  back,  the 
marks  of  a  black  snake  whip,  in  the  hands  of  her 


208  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

drunken  husband.  She  was  not  a  college  bred 
woman,  nor  yet  up  to  the  grade  of  typical  pioneer 
women  of  the  wild  west.  She  was  a  woman,  how- 
ever, and  came  into  camp  carrying  her  bundles,  all 
she  had  on  her  back,  and  walking.  She  gave  the 
women  of  the  tribe  to  understand  her  plight,  and 
further  that  she  was  going  to  cast  her  lot  with  the 
tribe.  Curiosity  had  drawn  quite  a  crowd  of  bucks 
and  squaws  and  finally  one  good-natured,  fat, 
squabby  squaw  took  her  in  as  part  of  her  family. 

Frances  was  the  only  name  we  ever  knew  her  by, 
and  it  chanced  to  be  my  fortune  to  meet  her  several 
times  within  two  years. 

This  is  but  a  prelude  to  the  story  of  an  Indian 
girl,  the  only  one  I  ever  knew  whose  name  was 
Frances. 

It  is  the  custom  in  naming  an  Indian  baby  for 
the  mother  to  select  for  the  name  of  the  new  born 
child  the  object  which  first  appears  to  her  eyes. 
In  this  case  the  mother  saw  the  white  woman 
Frances,  who  was  with  her  when  the  child  was 
born.  In  her  hands  she  carried  a  yellow  rose.  The 
mother  then  gave  the  name  of  her  baby  as  "Frances- 
Yellow-Hose." 

I  met  the  tribe  many  years  after  on  a  govern- 
ment reservation.  Many  of  them  I  knew,  but  the 
younger  ones  of  the  tribe  had  grown  beyond  my 
recollection.  I  inquired  for  Frances,  but  they  told 
me  she  had  long  since  been  dead.  The  old  squaw, 
however,  called  a  young  girl,  I  should  judge  about 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  209 

11    or   12   years   old,    and  in  presenting  her   said: 
"This  is  Frances  you  knew  so  well." 

I  became  pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  little 
Indian  maiden  during  the  five  days  I  remained  in 
camp  with  them  on  their  reservation.  That  was  the 
last  visit  I  paid  to  my  friends  of  the  Sac  and  Fox 
tribe.  Though  I  may  have  a  story  to  tell  later  on 
of  how  my  friend  Buffalo  Bill  and  I  ate  yellow 
dog  soup  with  the  Sac  and  Fox  cooked  by  the 
mother  of  little  Frances- Yellow-Rose. 

I  will  say  before  leaving  the  subject  of  Frances- 
Yellow-Rose  that  for  a  long  time  I  had  in  my 
possession  a  pair  of  buffalo  skin  moccasins  made  by 
this  Indian  child,  Frances- Yellow-Rose.  They  were 
far  too  small  for  me  so  I  passed  them  on  to  May 
Cody,  youngest  sister  of  Buffalo  Bill,  who  at  this 
writing  had  joined  her  brother  across  the  Great 
Divide. 

This  skit  of  memory  is  being  brought  back  to  me 
by  another  little  Frances,  who  visited  me  when  I 
thought  that  it  was  time  for  me  to  cross  the  Divide. 

Thirty -ninth  "Pow-Wow" 

DOG  SOUP 

I   GUESS  I  had  better  put  the  story  of  Dog  Soup 
on  paper,  while  I  am  able  to  remember  it  and  jot 
it  down. 

You  know  that  the  Indians  deemed  a  meal  of 
dog  a  choice  article  of  food.    Though,  to  the  aver- 


210  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

age  white  man  it  does  not  appeal,  neither  do  rats 
which  the  Chinamen  like  so  well. 

We  were  in  camp  with  the  Sac  and  Fox  long 
before  they  were  on  a  reservation,  and  after  a  big 
day's  hunt,  which  netted  us  two  buffalo,  three 
prairie  wolves  and  several  jack  rabbits,  we  were 
hungry  enough  to  eat  horse  shoe  nails.  A  frugal 
supper  was  prepared  and  we  all  sat  down  to  it 
around  the  camp  fire.  The  flour  bread  was  made 
by  the  squaws  in  what  is  now  known  as  a  dutch 
oven.  Where  they  got  it,  Lord  only  knows,  prob- 
ably from  the  moving  train  of  some  unfortunate 
emigrant,  but  more  likely  they  paid  three  prices 
for  it  from  some  Indian  agent. 

The  soup  was  made  by  the  old  mother  squaw, 
the  mother  of  Frances- Yellow-Rose,  and  we  went 
to  it  with  avidity  for,  by  heck,  we  were  hungry. 
We  each  took  two  cups  full  of  the  soup,  and  in  the 
absence  of  spoons,  we  drank  it  as  you  would  water, 
using  our  fingers  to  get  out  the  generous  hunks  of 
meat.  I  say  "we,"  because  I  was  not  the  only  white 
man  or  boy  in  the  crowd.  There  was  Billy  Cody 
before  he  acquired  the  name  Buffalo  Bill,  Walt 
Sinclair,  Billy  Slade,  and  myself.  The  supper  was 
put  away  in  good  shape,  we  lit  our  pipes  and  pro- 
ceeded to  enjoy  ourselves  beneath  the  star  spangled 
heaven. 

Johnny- White-Horse,  an  older  brother  of  Fran- 
ces-Yellow-Rose, was  induced  by  the  men  of  the 
tribe  to  bring  out  the  skin  of  the   "jack  rabbit" 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  211 

which  we  supposed  we  had  eaten.  My  portion 
stayed  down  all  right,  as  did  also  that  of  Walt  Sin- 
clair, but  Billy  Slade  and  Billy  Cody  left  the  circle 
and  we  could  hear  them  calling  "New  York"  as 
they  threw  up  their  supper  and  all  other  meals 
preceding  it.  I  have  always  been  fond  of  dogs,  but 
not  as  a  food.  The  dog  skin  was  offered  to  Cody, 
but  he  refused  it. 

This  is  the  only  time  to  my  knowledge  that  I 
ever  ate  dog. 

Fortieth  "Pow-Wow" 

BILL   BUCKMASTER 

BILL  BUCKMASTER  was  not  one  of  the  Cody 
gang  of  old  scouts.    He  was  just  a  school  boy, 
and  with  us  made  one  trip  during  school  vacation. 

It  was  his  last  trip. 

On  this  occasion  we  crossed  the  path  of  Black- 
feet  Indians  on  the  war  path.  What  they  were 
doing  on  that  particular  range,  or  what  started 
them,  we  never  knew. 

Bill  and  Walt  Sinclair  were  away  from  the  camp 
that  night.  When  Walt  Sinclair  came  into  camp, 
we  knew  something  was  wrong,  he  coming  alone. 
It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  night  when  he  came 
in,  and  he  told  us  to  prepare  for  a  fight.  He  had 
ridden  long  and  fast,  because  his  horse  was  tired 
out  and  ready  to  drop.  We  got  in  shape  to  move 
the  train  and  we  started  out  under  a  bright  Sep- 
tember moon.     Our  route  lay  along  the  same  direc- 


212  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

tion  traversed  by  Walt  and  Bill.  After  a  slow  jour- 
ney of  about  ten  miles  we  came  across  a  dead  and 
scalped  Indian.  Along  about  two  miles  further  we 
came  across  another  Indian,  and  in  close  proximity, 
lay  Bill  Buckmaster  dead  and  scalped.  We  stopped 
to  bury  him  where  he  lay.  An  end-gate  with  his 
name  cut  in  with  a  hunting  knife,  was  the  only 
marker  for  his  grave. 

Further  along  we  came  across  two  Indians,  dead 
but  not  scalped,  which  shows  that  Bill  Buckmaster, 
the  school  boy,  died  a-fighting. 

Attached  to  Bill's  belt  were  two  bleeding  Indian 
scalps  and  they  were  given  to  Colonel  D.  R.  An- 
thony, his  guardian.  That  was  his  first  and  last 
trip  across  the  plains,  in  fact  he  never  completed 
the  trip — never  reached  Denver. 

Bill  Buckmaster  was  a  good  boy  at  school,  not 
goody,  goody,  as  the  world  terms  it.  He  was  not 
given  to  bragging  and  the  fight  he  made  alone  in 
the  prairie  showed  the  metal  he  was  made  of. 

He  had  become  separated  from  his  riding  part- 
ner, and  at  the  time  of  the  shooting  they  must  have 
been  fully  a  mile  apart.  Walt  rode  to  his  aid,  but 
finding  his  dead  body  and  no  Indians  in  sight,  took 
the  back  trail  for  camp  and  gave  the  alarm  which 
started  us  on  our  early  journey. 

If  this  sketch  reaches  the  eye  of  any  old  man 
living  now  who  saw  the  end-gate  with  Bill's  name 
on,  will  write  to  me,  I  will  deem  it  a  great  favor. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  213 

Bill  Buckmaster  at  the  time  of  his  death  was 
twenty  years  and  one  day  old.  This  I  know  be- 
cause the  day  previous  he  said  was  his  birthday. 

Forty --fir st  (CPow-Wow" 

ABBIE    PERKINS 

ABBIE  PERKINS  was  no  Indian  fighter,  but 
l  was  a  Leavenworth  girl  in  times  when  western 
history  was  being  made.  She  was  just  a  school  girl 
and  our  teacher  was  H.  D.  McCarty,  who  was  many 
years  afterward  state  superintendent  of  public  in- 
struction with  offices  at  Topeka,  Kansas. 

My  main  reason  for  introducing  Abbie  Perkins 
in  this,  my  memories  of  when  the  west .  was  young, 
is  that  Abbie  was  Buffalo  Bill's  school  day  sweet- 
heart. Here  was  a  pair  of  kids  who  simply  idolized 
each  other.  When  Billy  Cody  left  school  on  his 
first  trip  across  the  plains,  it  was  Abbie  who  bade 
him  farewell  under  the  Cottonwood  tree  which 
towered  above  the  bridge  at  Three-Mile  Creek,  and 
it  was  she  who  welcomed  him  home  many  months 
later  as  her  boy  hero.  Again  he  was  called  to  the 
plains  and  before  leaving,  he  called  at  her  house  to 
bid  her  good-bye.  Those  were  the  days  before  the 
pony  express,  and  mail  correspondence  was  often 
delayed  through  the  irregularity  of  stage  service, 
but  at  that  letters  came  to  Fort  Leavenworth  ad- 
dressed to  Abbie  Perkins,  in  care  of  the  writer  of 
this.  We  had  no  means  of  replying  to  those  let- 
ters because  we  did  not  know  where  to  find  Billy, 


214  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

as  he  was  on  a  scouting  expedition  for  the  govern- 
ment, here  today  and  away  tomorrow.  Abbie,  how- 
ever, did  not  know  of  these  conditions,  so  she  gave 
me  her  letters  to  mail  to  Billy.  I  had  the  satisfac- 
tion of  handing  him,  on  his  return  from  this  par- 
ticular trip,  four  letters.  I  told  Will  how  it  hap- 
pened that  I  had  all  these  letters,  and  it  was  agreed 
between  he  and  I  that  I  should  keep  all  letters 
addressed  to  him  in  my  care  until  he  could  com- 
municate with  me  or  return  from  his  trips.  This 
I  did,  but  there  was  no  trip  as  long  as  the  first 
one,  and  the  two  young  lovers  met  oftener. 

Cody  was  a  boy  of  the  plains,  his  family  in 
humble  circumstances,  though  respected  by  all. 
Abbie  Perkins  was  the  daughter  of  H.  J.  Perkins, 
proprietor  of  the  Planters'  Hotel,  of  Leavenworth, 
Kansas. 

I  shall  never  forget  Billy's  return  from  one  trip 
he  made  as  guide  to  a  wagon  train  of  immigrants. 
He  had  piloted  them  safely  to  Denver,  with  only 
an  occasional  brush  with  the  Indians,  no  lives  or 
stock  lost.  The  return  trip  was  made  in  company 
of  a  detachment  of  soldiers  sent  out  to  guard  the 
train.  It  was  during  this  trip  that  Abbie  Perkins 
took  sick,  died  and  was  buried  on  the  top  of  Pilot 
Knob,  then  the  cemetery  of  Leavenworth,  Kansas. 
It  fell  to  me  to  break  the  news  to  Billy  and  hand 
to  him  three  letters,  the  last  that  Abbie  ever  wrote. 
The  following  day,  Billy  and  I  climbed  the  hill 
and  visited  Abbie's  grave  on  Pilot  Knob.     On  this 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  215 

occasion,  Billy  Cody  broke  down  and  wept  as  a 
child,  and  in  sympathy  with  my  Pard,  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  say  that  I  joined  him.  Many  times 
thereafter  we  together  visited  the  grave  of  Abbie 
Perkins,  Buffalo  Bill's  first  sweetheart. 

Forty-second  ffPow-WowJJ 

JOHN   JESTUS 

JOHN  JESTUS  was  a  school  boy,  in  the  early 
days  at  Leavenworth,  Kansas.  He  was  of  our 
school  boy  crowd  and  I  am  going  to  name  them  so 
far  as  I  can  to  show  the  path  of  life  taken  by  boys 
in  later  years. 

There  was  in  our  crowd,  Henry  Brown,  who 
afterwards  became  a  plainsman;  Dick  Humphrey, 
who  later  on  became  governor  of  Kansas;  Charley 
Mitchell,  whom  I  met  some  years  ago,  a  Methodist 
Bishop ;  Ed.  House,  who  the  last  I  knew  of  him  was 
running  a  livery  stable  in  Leavenworth,  Kansas,  and 
John  Jestus,  the  subject  of  this  sketch  together  with 
Ed.  Hughes,  became  river  gamblers,  plying  on  the 
steamers,  Hesperian  and  War  Eagle,  when  those 
boats  ran  from  St.  Louis  to  St.  Joe  on  the  Mis- 
souri River. 

One  time,  while  the  steamer  Hesperian  was  tied 
up  at  the  bank  at  Lexington,  Missouri,  John  Jestus 
got  into  a  quarrel  over  a  game  of  cards  and  shot  and 
killed  Colonel  W.  F.  Burns  of  St.  Joe,  Missouri. 
He  was  at  once  taken  off  the  boat,  and,  on  the  levy 
at  Lexington  was  hanged  for  the  murder. 


216  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

John,  as  I  knew  him,  was  a  good  boy,  never 
using  profanity  and  was  in  fact,  as  we  looked  at  it 
then,  the  pet  of  our  school  teacher,  Miss  Van  Evra. 
But  then,  you  know,  kids  will  go  astray. 

Forty -third  cfPow~WowJJ 

MAY  CODY 

ACTING  under  the  instructions  of  her  brother, 
u    Buffalo  Bill,  May  Cody,  his  youngest  sister, 
is,  I  believe,  the  first  woman  to  kill  a  buffalo. 

Together  the  pair  rode  into  the  herd,  May 
mounted  on  Buffalo  Bill's  buffalo  horse,  Brigham, 
and  he  on  a  broncho  belonging  to  the  train. 

This  was  a  government  train  and  was  the  occa- 
sion when  General  Sheridan  with  his  wife  and  a 
company  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  from  the  states, 
accompanied  the  train  on  a  pleasure  tour. 

When  you  hear  a  man  talk  of  killing  a  buffalo  by 
shooting  him  between  the  eyes,  you  can  put  him 
down  as  a  liar,  and  you  can  put  whatever  profane 
word  which  you  choose  in  front  of  the  word  liar. 
The  proper  and  only  way  to  kill  a  buffalo  is  to  ride 
up  along  side  and  put  one  or  two  bullets  in  the 
animal  just  behind  the  left  fore  leg,  and  then  turn 
away  as  quick  as  the  Lord  will  let  you  for  the  buf- 
falo will  follow,  and  the  average  buffalo  pony  knows 
it.  So  it  is  just  as  well  to  keep  your  seat  firmly  in 
anticipation  of  this  quick  turn  by  your  mount. 

May  Cody  accompanied  by  her  brother  followed 
instructions  and  landed  her  first  buffalo. 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  217 

Later  in  the  day,  about  3  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
another  small  herd  was  discovered,  and  May  alone 
tackled  it.  This  time  she  brought  down  a  yearling 
calf  with  a  single  bullet,  and  the  carcass  was  loaded 
into  a  wagon,  and  at  supper,  under  a  cottonwood 
tree,  by  the  side  of  a  stream,  we  had  May's  buffalo 
calf  well  roasted  by  Johnny  Hines,  the  cook  of  the 
outfit. 

Both  the  buffaloes  were  skinned  and  the  robes 
and  heads  presented  to  May.  The  robes  were  after- 
wards tanned  and  the  heads  were  mounted  and  sold 
to  the  Union  Pacific  Railway,  one  of  which  was 
placed  over  the  entrance  to  the  ticket  office  of  the 
Union  Pacific  in  Omaha. 

This  year  (1926),  May  Cody  has  crossed  the 
great  divide,  the  last,  but  one,  of  the  Cody  family. 
The  older  sister,  Julia  Cody  Goodman,  lives  in  Los 
Angeles,  and,  we  hear,  is  superintending  a  moving 
picture  to  be  known  as  the  "Life  of  Buffalo  Bill." 

I  never  have  known  or  heard  tell  of  a  woman  who 
has  ever  killed  a  buffalo,  and  it  is  but  just,  in  this 
sugar  coated  history  to  credit  Buffalo  Bill's  sister 
May  as  the  only  woman  buffalo  hunter  ever  known 
to  the  western  plains. 

Forty-fourth  "Pow-Wow" 

SURE   SHOTS 

WALT.  SINCLAIR,  another  of  the  gang  and 
probably  the  most  close  in  friendship  to  Cody 
and  me,  was  built  along  the  same  lines  as  Buffalo 


218  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Bill,  and  I  do  not  suppose  there  was  half  an  inch 
difference  in  their  height.  Walt,  was  a  splendid  shot 
with  a  revolver,  and  we  all  used  revolvers  in  those 
days,  though  many  of  us  had  in  addition  to  our  brace 
of  revolvers  a  carbine  or  rifle  that  hung  to  our 
saddles.  To  show  that  I  bear  a  charmed  life,  I  will 
cite  an  instance  of  the  sharp  shooting  of  both  Cody 
and  Sinclair.  Many  times  I  have  sat  on  a  rail  fence, 
and  held  an  apple  in  my  hand  while  Cody  and  Sin- 
clair would  ride  by  on  horse  back,  and  shoot  through 
the  apple.  I  never  got  a  scratch.  But  in  my  sober, 
saner  moments,  and  feeling  as  I  do  now,  I  would 
not  repeat  it.  These  two  were  not  alone  in  feats  of 
marksmanship,  for  there  were  others  on  the  plains 
who  could  do  the  same,  provided  they  could  find 
another  darn  fool  to  hold  the  apple. 

While  we  are  on  the  subject  of  marksmanship,  I 
will  call  your  attention  to  another  feat  which  though 
not  so  hazardous  was  indulged  in  by  many  of  the 
boys.  On  Shawnee  street,  in  Leavenworth,  Kan- 
sas, was  the  paint  shop  of  Scott  &  Brother.  This 
was  on  the  north  side  of  the  street  between  Third 
and  Fourth  streets.  Scott  &  Brother  also  dealt  in 
window  glass,  and  we  would  assemble  there  in  the 
afternoon,  and  suspend  one  of  these  panes  of  glass 
between  two  posts,  back  of  which,  across  the  alley 
was  a  bank  of  dirt  caused  by  grading  the  alley 
through  the  hill.  This  bank  formed  a  safe  back- 
ground, and  we  would  shoot  through  the  pane  of 
glass,  and  then  put  the  remaining  bullets  through 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  219 

the  hole  we  first  made.  Many  of  the  boys  became 
adepts  in  this  game,  and  it  was  nothing  for  us  to 
shoot  from  three  to  five  bullets  through  a  pane  of 
glass  before  breaking  it. 

Forty -fifth  "Pow-Wow" 

A   WINE   SUPPER 

MANY  years  afterward  at  the  World's  Fair  in 
Chicago,  I  attended  a  dinner  given  by  Buffalo 
Bill  to  Carter  Harrison  in  honor  of  the  Infanta 
Eulalia  of  Spain,  At  that  dinner  the  conversation 
veered  around  to  sharp  shooting  and  Buffalo  Bill  laid 
a  wager  with  Carter  Harrison  (this  was  the  senior 
Carter  Harrison)  that  his  friend,  pointing  to  me, 
would  shoot  a  hole  through  a  pane  of  glass,  and 
empty  the  revolver  through  the  same  hole.  The 
wager  was  for  a  wine  supper  for  those  seated  at  the 
table. 

I  got  the  shivers  instantly  for  it  was  twenty-five 
years  since  I  had  fired  a  pistol,  and  over  thirty 
years  since  I  had  had  in  my  hand  an  old  time  navy 
revolver.  I  demurred,  telling  Cody  how  long  it  had 
been  since  I  fired  a  shot,  but  he  told  me  shooting 
was  just  like  swimming,  and  if  you  could  shoot 
once,  you  could  shoot  always.  I  saw  at  once  where 
Cody  was  going  to  pay  for  the  wine  supper,  and 
made  no  further  objections. 

The  shooting  took  place  directly  after  dinner,  and 
a  large  pane  of  glass  was  suspended  in  a  gate  way 


220  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

back  of  the  Wild  West  arena.  With  fear,  and 
trembling,  I  marched  out,  surrounded  by  the  entire 
dinner  party.  Cody  handed  me  his  pistol,  a  white 
handled  navy  revolver  with  instructions  to  shoot  as 
I  always  had  done.  I  took  the  pistol,  and  with  the 
ordinary  drop  shot  that  we  had  always  made, 
put  a  hole  through  the  glass,  rapidly  following  the 
first  shot  with  all  the  loads  in  the  revolver.  I  was 
surprised  at  myself,  and  my  friend,  who  was  visit- 
ing with  me  (it  was  either  Calvin  H.  George,  or 
John  Ward  of  this  city,  I  do  not  recall  which  one) 
was  also  amazed  at  my  marksmanship.  Mr.  Harrison 
called  the  dinner  party  for  the  next  evening  at  the 
Auditorium  Hotel,  and  after  the  dinner  was  over, 
Cody  recalled  a  former  episode  wherein  Mr.  Harri- 
son had  played  an  expensive  joke  on  Buffalo  Bill. 
Cody  reminded  him  of  it  and  his  promise  to  get  even 
with  Mr.  Harrison  some  time  in  the  future. 

Harrison  could  not  see  the  joke  and  neither 
could  I,  until  Cody  told  us  that  all  of  the  chambers 
in  the  revolver  save  the  first  were  loaded  with  blank 
cartridges  and  added,  "The  chance  I  took  was,  that 
Dan  would  hit  the  glass  with  the  first  shot."  I  did 
not  feel  quite  so  important  after  this  revelation,  and 
Mr.  Harrison  took  the  joke  good  naturedly. 

We  had  never  heard  of  Mr.  Volstead  then,  and  I 
do  not  know  when  we  went  to  bed,  but  as  we  see  in 
the  comic  strip,  "Them  days  are  gone  forever." 


'Vs$s^^; 


CHAPTER  XVI 


Forty -sixth  "Pow-Wow" 

AN  INDIAN  HANGING 

I  CHANCED  to  be  staying  with  a  tribe  of  Creek 
Indians.  They  had  captured  an  Indian  of  the 
Dog  Indian  tribe.  He  had  murdered  a  Creek  squaw, 
and  the  Creek  Indians  in  emulation  of  the  white 
man,  were  going  to  hang  him.  How  they  tried  him, 
or  who  was  the  judge  and  jury,  I  do, not  know,  but 
the  hanging  day  had  arrived  and  Indians  from  sev- 
eral tribes  were  gathering  at  the  hanging  place. 

I  may  say  here  to  those  who  do  not  know  what  a 
Dog  Indian  is,  that  they  are  the  off-scourings  of  all 
tribes  on  the  plains,  the  Indian  underworld  if  you 
please.  These  are  they  who,  having  been  banished 
from  their  tribes,  banded  themselves  together  and 
were  known  by  all  tribes  of  the  plains  as  Dog 
Indians.  For  a  long  time  they  occupied  a  portion 
of  the  pan  handle  of  Texas,  and  it  was  known  as 
No  Man's  Land. 

After  this  short  digression,  I  will  conclude  my 
story  of  an  Indian  hanging. 

My  companion  on  this  occasion  was  W.  F.  Cody, 
and  it  was  at  this  time  that  he  began  to  be  known 

221 


222  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

as  one  of  the  two  Buffalo  Bills.  This  was  before  he 
and  Billy  Comstock,  another  buffalo  hunter,  had  the 
contest  to  determine  who  should  wear  the  name 
Buffalo  Bill. 

Arriving  at  the  hanging  place,  we  saw  that  the 
Indians  in  charge  of  the  ceremony  had  bent  down  a 
good  sized  sapling,  trimmed  up  the  fork  and  tied 
the  Dog  Indian  into  the  fork,  the  limbs  on  either 
side  of  his  neck  and  he  standing  on  the  ground.  The 
sapling  was  secured  in  its  bended  position  by  a 
buffalo  skin  lariat  and  at  a  signal  from  the  Creek 
chief,  this  was  cut  with  an  ax,  literally  jerking  the 
victim  off  the  earth  instead  of  dropping  him  as  the 
old  fashioned  gallows  of  the  white  man  did.  This 
hanging  I  had  in  mind  when  years  afterwards  I 
wrote  a  heading  for  the  Chicago  Times  "Jerked  to 
Jesus." 

Forty-seventh  "Pow-Wow" 

JERKED  TO  JESUS 

MY  opportunity  to  write  this  was  as  follows: 
Kindred  spirits,  J.  Whitcomb  Riley,  Opie 
Reid,  Eugene  Field,  Will  Visscher,  and  myself  were 
enjoying  life  at  the  old  Chicago  Press  Club,  such  as 
was  possible  only  in  pre- Volstead  days.  Will  Viss- 
cher was  night  telegraph  editor  on  Wilbur  F. 
Storey's  old  Chicago  Times  and  we  knew  that  after 
our  celebration,  Visch  was  not  in  condition  to  handle 
a  night  shift  alone.  With  one  accord,  however,  we 
divided  up  the  work  between  us.     All  matter  com- 


DAN  WINGET 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  OLD  SCOUTS 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  223 

ing  under  the  head  of  "Crimes  and  Casualties"  fell 
to  my  share,  and  a  dispatch  from  Texas  telling  of 
the  hanging  of  a  murderer  suggested  the  heading 
"Jerked  to  Jesus,"  having  in  mind  the  hanging  of 
the  Indian  years  before. 

Our  night  work  was  done  and  the  dawn  was  not 
far  off.  Each  made  a  bed  of  exchanges  and  curled 
down  to  sleep  in  the  editorial  room. 

Late  in  the  day  we  were  awakened  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Mr.  Storey  who  had  the  finest  vocabulary  of 
profanity  that  it  has  been  my  good  fortune  to 
meet,  save  possibly  Horace  Greeley  of  the  New  York 
Tribune.  After  he  had  said  all  he  could,  and  in  a 
manner  in  which  only  he  could  say  it,  we  presented 
our  side  of  the  story,  Eugene  Field  and  Opie  Reid 
acting  as  lawyers  for  the  defense.  So  eloquent  were 
they  that  Will  Visscher  retained  his  job,  and  I  be- 
fore being  hired,  was  fired. 

Forty -eighth  "Pow-Wow" 

WHY  WAS  I  LEFT? 

MANY  years  ago  in  my  Sunday  school  days  in 
Leavenworth,  Kansas,  when  that  city  was  on 
the  border  of  western  civilization,  I  got  a  book  as  a 
prize  from  my  Sunday  school  teacher,  Dr.  Parkes, 
for  memorizing  a  certain  number  of  verses  in  the 
testament.  The  title  of  the  book  was  the  same  as 
the  heading  of  this  article;  I  have  it  yet  in  my 
library. 


224  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

But  this  is  only  a  prelude  to  the  story,  or  pipe 
dream,  in  which  I  am  now  indulging. 

When  Buffalo  Bill  died  there  were  twelve  of 
the  old  gang  left.  By  the  word  gang  as  used  here, 
I  do  not  mean  that  we  were  gangsters  in  the  modern 
sense  of  the  word.  The  men  of  whom  I  speak  and 
the  gang  referred  to  were  one  and  all  good,  clean, 
western  men — men  who  dared  to  bare  their  bosoms 
in  breaking  the  way  for  civilization;  men  who  were 
acquainted  with  the  plains  and  the  bands  of  roving 
Indians,  who  sought,  and  justly  too,  to  impede  the 
westward  march  of  civilization. 

I  say,  "justly  too,"  in  the  above  paragraph,  be- 
cause the  Indian  of  the  plains  felt  that  the  white 
man  was  driving  him  from  his  home,  shooting  his 
buffalo,  and  by  force  of  numbers  driving  him  west- 
ward, ever  westward. 

The  saying  is  very  common  that,  "only  a  good 
Indian,  is  a  dead  Indian." 

My  personal  observation  is  just  to  the  contrary. 
You  or  I  would  fight  for  our  homes.  So  did  the 
Indians.  But  I  digress.  At  the  head  of  this  article 
I  ask  the  question,  "Why  Was  I  Left?"  There  is 
a  saying  often  repeated,  "The  good  die  young." 
What  a  terrible  double  dyed  villian  I  must  be.  Gone 
are  all  the  scouts,  guides,  and  Indian  fighters,  of 
a  way  back  then.  The  last  time  the  entire  bunch  of 
Buffalo  Bill's  band  of  scouts  met  together  was 
after  the  massacre  at  Julesburg.     There  were  four- 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  225 

teen    of   us    then.      Two   were   killed   with    Indian 
arrows  and  rifle  balls. 

I  referred  to  the  massacre  at  Julesburg  in  a  for- 
mer article,  but  at  present  it  all  comes  back  to  me. 
The  circling  horde  of  Indians,  the  relentless  murder 
of  men,  women,  and  children,  by  the  Indians  crazed 
with  drink  and  led  by  that  notorious  half-breed  out- 
law, Mexican  Tom.  I  look  again  into  the  faces  of 
Ed.  House  and  Billy  Buckmaster,  who  we  ten- 
derly laid  away  for  their  last  sleep.  Mexican  Tom, 
the  outlaw,  paid  the  penalty  for  his  many  raids  and 
his  evil  influence  over  the  Indians  at  Julesburg. 
Who  buried  him,  or,  if  he  ever  was  buried,  I  do  not 
know. 

This  massacre  at  Julesburg  as  it  comes  to  me 
through  memory,  was  the  one  time  on  the  plains 
when,  I  will  acknowledge,  I  was  scared  stiff.  I  shot 
many  rounds  of  cartridges,  but  I  am  not  sure  that 
a  single  one  took  effect — I  simply  fired  and  loaded, 
and  to  this  day  I  do  not  know  whether  my  mount 
was  a  broncho  or  regular  army  mule. 

With  the  passing  of  Colonel  Boggs  of  Mattoon, 
111.,  I  find  myself  alone— the  last  of  the  old  Cody 
Scouts,  which  leads  me  to  inquire,  "Why  was  I 
left?" 

This  is,  in  brief,  the  story  of  the  massacre  at 
Julesburg  as  I  remember  it,  and  this  is  also  the 
story  of  another  time  that  I  was  scared  stiff. 


226  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Forty -ninth  "Pow-Wow" 

LOOKING  BACKWARD 

SITTING  here  alone  with  my  pipe,  it  dawns  upon 
me  to  ask  a  question  using  the  words  of  the  old 
song,  "Where  are  the  Friends  of  My  Youth?" 

So  far  as  I  know,  of  the  old  bunch  with  whom  I 
associated  in  the  west,  when  early  history  was  in 
the  making,  I  alone  remain. 

At  the  time  of  the  death  of  our  leader,  Buffalo 
Bill,  twelve  of  us  were  on  earth.  With  the  death 
of  Col.  Boggs,  two  years  ago,  the  last  of  the  old 
gang,  but  one,  have  taken  up  their  last  long  sleep 
beneath  the  turf,  and  I  alone  remain. 

Each  of  the  others  had  their  good  points  as  well 
as  some  points  not  so  good,  but  as  I  remember  them, 
good  and  bad,  one  and  all,  had  the  redeeming  streak 
of  honor.  A  petty  thief,  or  a  man  devoid  of  manly 
principles,  had  no  place  in  our  crowd.  True  it  is, 
that  not  one  of  them  went  to  rest  without  the  blood 
of  his  fellowman  on  his  hands  and  without  one  or 
more  notches  in  his  gun.  These  killings,  one  and 
all  of  them,  were  in  the  interests  of  civilization,  and 
many  of  them  saved  a  train  of  defenseless  men. 
women  and  children,  when  the  west  was  young,  and 
these  hardy  pioneers  were  westward  bound  to  take 
up  farms  in  the  virgin  west. 

Most  of  the  old  gang  were  dead  shots,  and  I  take 
off  my  hat  to  Bill  Hickok  as  being  the  quickest 
and  most  accurate  shot  I  ever  saw.  I  believe  that 
he   led   the   crowd   in   the   number   of   those,   who 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  227 

notched  their  guns  for  every  man,  white,  Mexican, 
or  red,  that  he  put  to  rest  in  the  pioneer  grave  yard 
of  the  west.  When  the  west  was  young,  it  required 
a  man  of  iron  nerve,  quick  to  draw,  and  as  quick 
to  shoot.  For  Wild  Bill  to  draw  his  pistol,  it 
meant  the  death  of  some  person,  or  persons,  and 
for  this  reason  he  was  chosen  as  a  frontier  sheriff. 
While  acting  in  this  capacity,  he  oftimes  acted  as 
judge,  jury,  and  executioner,  and  his  greatest  rec- 
ord was  the  extermination  of  the  McCanless  gang, 
and  they,  four  in  number,  with  six  other  horse 
thieves  constituted  the  gang,  which  he  single  handed, 
and  alone,  put  to  their  last  long  sleep.  This  gang 
was  one  of  the  most  feared  on  the  western  plains. 
In  the  foot  hills  they  had  their  stronghold,  and  it 
was  not  an  infrequent  occurrence  for  overland 
stages  to  be  held  up  by  them,  and  not  infrequently 
a  murder  was  pulled  off  at  the  same  time.  I  recall 
at  one  time  when  Jim  Curry,  a  saloon  keeper,  and 
Ed.  Estes,  a  scout,  and  guide,  had  an  altercation  in 
Jim's  saloon,  both  men  drew  at  once,  and  fired,  the 
result  was  that  they  were  both  killed,  and  another 
miscreant  named  Ed.  Hudson,  sought  to  pull  Jim 
Curry's  diamond  pin  off  his  shirt,  and,  seeing  Wild 
Bill  essayed  to  pull  his  gun.  The  result  was  that 
three  men  were  laid  away  at  that  particular  funeral. 

Wild  Bill  was  afterwards  shot  in  the  back  by  a 
man  named  McCall,  who  followed  Wild  Bill  to  the 
grave  within  the  week.  Wild  Bill  is  buried  at  Dead- 
wood,  S.  D.,  and  his  sweetheart,  Calamity  Jane, 
rests  beneath  a  little  mound  close  by. 


228  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Fiftieth  "Pow-Wow" 

A  TRIBUTE 

(To  Rotarian  Buffalo  Bill.) 

IN  the  death  of  Col.  W.  F.  Cody,  our  club  mourns 
its  first  loss.  Col.  Cody  was  the  first  honorary 
member,  and  though  it  has  never  been  his  pleasure 
to  meet  with  us  at  luncheon,  his  big  heart  has  been 
with  us. 

When  advised  of  his  election  as  honorary  mem- 
ber of  the  club,  he  did  not  stop  to  write,  but  wired 
his  thanks  and  the  appreciation  of  the  honor.  As 
the  writer  looks  at  the  character  of  Buffalo  Bill, 
both  as  boy  and  man,  in  the  home  or  in  the 
limelight  of  publicity,  as  a  dreaded  Indian  fighter, 
as  the  red  man's  friend,  as  a  celebrity  or  as  a  mere 
man,  I  say  looking  backward,  looking  at  him  as  I 
knew  him,  I  feel  that  the  true  spirit  of  Rotary  was 
a  large  factor  in  his  makeup. 

Born  without  the  attribute  of  fear,  facing  death 
many  times  without  a  tremor,  his  heart  was  as  ten- 
der as  a  woman's.  His  hand  was  ever  outstretched 
in  the  cause  of  charity.  His  was  the  true  spirit  of 
brotherhood  of  man.  He  recognized  and  helped  the 
poor  down-and-out  and  put  many  an  unfortunate 
on  his  feet,  and  braced  him  up. 

The  glare  of  greatness  or  the  patronage  of  royalty 
did  not  spoil  him  nor  was  he  ever  above  his  friend 
or  brother  in  lowly  overalls.  He  was  too  big  a  man 
to  snub  poverty.    On  the  contrary,  he  would  go  out 


THE  WORLD'S  GREATEST  SCOUT  229 

of  his  way  to  caress  the  lowly  kidlet.  His  was  a 
big,  broad  nature,  and  he  was  made  of  the  stuff 
of  which  Rotary  may  be  proud.  As  we  lay  him 
away  —  our  brother,  our  friend,  our  Rotarial  com- 
panion, we  do  so  with  a  feeling  that  all  is  well  across 
the  great  divide.  His  life  has  been  devoted  in  a 
practical  way  to  answering  the  command  of  the 
Master,  "Feed  my  lambs." 

The  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  will  shine  upon 
the  resting  place  of  our  brother,  and  as  the  god  of 
day  sinks  to  rest,  its  beams  will  linger  upon  the 
spot,  where  mingled  with  the  earth  of  the  mountains 
he  loved  so  well,  repose  the  remains  of  a  man  among 
men,  a  brother  and  a  friend. 

Fifty-first  "Pow-Wow" 

WE   LAY   DOWN   THE    PEN 

BOYS,  I  reluctantly  lay  down  the  pen  on  this 
brief  history,  this  hashed  history.  I  feel  that  if 
all  our  Boy  Scouts  read  it  thoroughly  and  between 
the  lines  they  will  be  the  better  for  its  perusal.  I  have 
stuck  close  to  facts,  and  though  figures  and  dates 
may  be  in  a  measure  jumbled  up,  I  have  printed 
the  facts  in  the  life  of  the  original  Boy  Scout  com- 
mencing at  the  age  of  9,  up  to  and  including  the 
years  of  his  manhood.  I  have  told  without  the  gloss 
of  varnish  the  boyhood  life  of  one  of  the  greatest 
pioneers  in  our  country's  history.  I  have  covered 
nothing  and  nothing  has  been  uncovered  which  the 


230  ANECDOTES  OF  BUFFALO  BILL 

Last  of  the  Great  Scouts  will  not  say  "It  is  all 
right." 

We  were  boys,  just  boys,  the  same  as  you  are. 
Our  tastes  were  the  same.  Our  games  were  in  keep- 
ing with  the  red  blood  of  youth,  but  our  environ- 
ments were  different.  Where  you  are  surrounded 
with  walls  of  brick  and  stone,  the  boundless  prairies 
were  our  play  grounds.  Where  you  are  barred  by 
the  sections  of  streets  and  wards,  our  only  menace 
were  the  red  men  of  the  plains. 

And  yet,  looking  back,  those  red  men  were  sus- 
ceptible to  kindness,  and  we  had  warm  friends 
among  the  various  tribes.  True,  it  is,  that  our  gov- 
ernment took  by  force  their  homes,  their  hunting 
grounds,  grieved,  the  same  as  you  and  I  would  feel 
should  some  strong  party  seek  to  deprive  us  of  our 
homes.     We  would  fight — so  did  they. 

I  am  not  about  to  write  a  labored  essay  upon  the 
wrongs  of  the  Indian,  but  simply  seeking  for  a 
proper  close  of  this  sketch. 

Buffalo  Bill,  my  friend,  I  have  known  and  loved 
for  half  a  hundred  years.  He  has  proven  true.  He 
has  been  the  entering  wedge  for  the  civilization  of 
America's  Great  West.  He  has  made  his  mark, 
and  I  shall,  as  I  raise  my  hat  in  greeting,  say  Hail 
and  Farewell,  America's  Greatest  American. 

THE  END 


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